Time Unwound
by slightlytragic
Summary: Lucina, to save her world, went back in time. What she found was not as it should have been.
1. Time's Cerulean Vagrant

**Time's Cerulean Vagrant**

* * *

_Her fate to dread,_

_Her fate, she fled._

_Her trail runs red,_

_Her trail, is death._

* * *

Lucina's feet hit the ground hard, the rift in the sky above her closing, thank Naga. It didn't close fast enough to completely keep the Risen out, however. She looked around to find about a dozen had fallen from the rift as well, though none landed very gracefully, most landing on their back and struggling to rise. Luckily, it seemed these were the only Risen that had made it through, as opposed to the legion's worth that had been assaulting her and her friends.

Her friends… she could only hope that they had made it through properly, but she knew that it would be quite a long time before she would see any of them, if she did at all. For now, she needed to focus. She recognized the woods she found herself in, and if Naga had gotten the day right…

"What… what the hell are those things?!" The voice was so familiar, and it instantly flooded the future-past Exalt with an odd mix of warmth and pain.

There he was, standing with his blade in hand.

There was her father.

Chrom was joined by Lucina's aunt, Lissa, and the future Knight-Commander, Frederick. It was an odd feeling, looking at these ghosts of people she had once loved.

No, she thought, not ghosts. Just not the people I once knew.

Lucina had made sure to mark the difference. These were not the people she had known. The man before her, holding a parallel version of her own blade, was not her father. He was not the man she had lost, and she was not the daughter he would someday have.

She told herself this, but that did little to stymie the feeling she had when she looked at him.

Even in the failing light of dusk that shine through the trees, even a decade or so younger, the man who looked at her in bewilderment now looked every bit like the man she had called her father.

Every bit of her tried to stop it, but she felt as though she was staring at her father's ghost all the same.

She sighed, berating herself and realizing the Risen were beginning to rouse. Twelve against four, it shouldn't be too troublesome.

At least, she thought that. Then, movement from behind the trio before her, movement she only barely caught from behind her mask.

Red eyes shining, towering over Lissa.

Chrom and Frederick noticed it too, both made to move, but neither truly knew what they were dealing with. Chrom's blade sliced through the Risen's chest, this thirteenth one seeming to have recovered much faster than the rest of them. Chrom exhaled, knowing a killing blow when he landed one.

Then, the Risen raised its axe. Chrom blinked, almost absently, as it began to descend upon him. Frederick was too far, Lissa too shocked, and Chrom too slow. For the young Prince, this seemed to be his death.

At least, he thought as much. But when the axe connected, it did not dive into his flesh.

Before him, the young man he had seen falling from the sky with the rest of these monsters stood. His blade was across his back, the beast's axe pushing down on him. A green aura seemed to shroud his body, something Chrom recognized as the aftereffects of Galeforce.

For another moment, the prince stood, completely at a loss. It wasn't until Frederick's lance crashed into the monster that he snapped out of it, finally ending the creature with a beheading blow.

Rather than falling and bleeding, the monster turned to smoke, vanishing.

However, the stranger collapsed to the ground immediately after, heaving, seemingly out of breath. Chrom noticed a sweat breaking out beneath his long, neatly cropped, cerulean hair. The rest of his features were covered by an odd, butterfly shaped mask.

"Sh-shouldn't have… have used it… not… not acclimated to it yet… Galeforce really does take a toll…", his words were mostly panted out, as he coughed into his arm.

"It seems I am in your debt, stranger. Thank you. What is your name?" Chrom asked after recovering from his shock, smiling good-naturedly as he offered a hand to the masked man.

A hand that was promptly refused, the swordsman rising to his feet unsteadily, but unassisted.

"You may call me Marth. But I am unimportant, at present. These creatures are called Risen. They have been created with the explicit purpose of killing humans, a task that they excel at when they have numbers. There's only twelve left, and it seems the fall slowed them down, but remain vigilant. As you have witnessed yourself, traditionally mortal blows have little effect. They will only cease to be when their bodies are completely useless in a fight. Disable them, and they will fall." His voice was rather strained, as though it's pitch did not come naturally.

The man, Marth, looked around, a slight look of confusion on his face, if his furrowed brow was anything to go by. "Only three of you?" He asked.

"Only three. Me and milord are capable enough fighters, and as are you, if your earlier display was any indication. We should be fine," Frederick said. Lucina could tell by his expression that he was watching her closely. She resisted the urge to chuckle. He did live up to his nickname.

But the confusion hit her once more. Naga told her that she would appear in the late hours of the day the Shepherds got their tactician, so where….

The creatures stirring brought her attention back to the subject at hand. Her blade in hand, she was careful to keep it in the shadows, as best she could. She didn't want Chrom to have any questions just yet.

"They fight with force, not skill. Outmatch either their strength or their ability, and you will have the upper hand. Chrom, Frederick, follow my lead, please."

With that, she was off, engaging the Risen. Even after the massive energy expenditure of Galeforce, she was still much quicker than any of the Risen, weaving in and out of their shambling attacks. She could hear Chrom and Frederick behind her, also engaging the monsters. For now, she just lost herself to the melee, her blade a blur, an instrument of destruction. She sliced out the leg of one, decapitated a second before the first could even drop to a knee, before she finished it too.

All told, of the twelve Risen, she counted nine that she had felled. When she turned, Frederick was pushing the last off his lance, before the beast turned to smoke. The rest had all been accounted for.

She turned toward Chrom, taking a small note of pride in the amazed look on his face, mirrored by his sister behind him. Even Frederick looked a tad impressed, though it was mostly obscured by the dark of night, the full moon only doing so much to illuminate the area.

"Marth, your skill with a blade is-", Chrom was cut off by another, much more excited voice.

"YOU WERE AMAZING!" Despite how hard she tried to fight it, Lucina could not stop a small smile from forming at her former aunt's enthusiasm.

It had been something she had missed greatly. Lissa had… she had been one of the last of the original Shepherds to fall. She had lost that spark long before her demise, seeing the deaths of almost everyone she had known. Lucina couldn't help but cherish this, even if it came from a ghost.

Notaghostnotaghostnotaghost

Gods, this was hard.

"Forgive my sister's… enthusiasm, but I wouldn't call her wrong. You fight like a great warrior. I would say you chose a fitting name." Chrom smiled at her warmly.

"The fact you chose a name gives me no small amount of concern. I would know who you are, where you come from, and how you know milord's name." Frederick eyed her suspiciously, trying to make out as much as her face as he could, the mask a frustrating obstacle.

"Forgive me, Sir Frederick. Perhaps in due time, but at present, my name and identity matter little. Just… trust that I have knowledge on events that will soon come to pass; tribulations that the brave Shepherds will stand against." Her voice was carefully monotone, her throat starting to hurt from forcing such a low pitch.

"If you know about these tribulations, it's rational to assume that you have a hand in them." Frederick's lance twitched slightly in his hands, before his master raised an arm before him.

"Hold. Marth may well have saved our lives, we will not condemn him for such," Chrom turned to Lucina, offering a smile that made her heart ache. "You have helped us, friend, and in doing so, you have helped Ylisse. What can we do to repay you?"

Lucina feel quiet for a moment, gauging just what she should ask.

"What's the date?" She asked him. For a moment, he was quiet, thrown off by such a seemingly random question.

"It's… it's the fourth of May, Archaenean year 2032"

"And your outfit, the Shepherds that is, have you been to Southtown today?"

"Y-yes. We quelled a bandit attack there earlier today."

Inwardly, Lucina began to panic. That was the day, the day the Shepherds found their tactician. Also, the prime candidate for her father's killer. Despite her suspicions, she knew that Robin was paramount for the trials to come; it had been his genius mind that had gotten the Shepherds through two wars, in her timeline.

Not to mention, he had been her father's dearest friend. More a brother than a comrade.

"Have you a tactician?" She questioned. Chrom shook his head, clearly confused as to the intent behind her inquiries.

"We still search. But I must ask, what is your reaso-"

"CAPTAIN CHROM!" A voice bellowed, distracting the Prince from his confusion.

Riding up to them quickly was a cavalier on horseback. Her hair short red, her armor perfectly polished and colored to match, she helped her lance at the ready, only relaxing when she was with Chrom's small group.

"Captain, I came soon as I saw the earthquake. Whole capital is in a tizzy about it. Your older sister was worried about you." The woman said, eyeing the group carefully. "Glad to see you all looking alright."

"Thank you for your quick response, Sully. But may I ask, who's the man clung to your back?" Chrom asked, nodding toward the mess of light blue hair, clutching onto the cavalier for dear life, face buried into her armor.

"Oh, Ruffles? Just some guy I happened upon in the woods. He's a pretty okay guy, I'd say, and good with that bow he's got. Saved me from some damn monster of some hell or another. Seems the beast left him a little shaken up."

The archer raised his head, "My name, madam, is Virion." Even breathless as he was, Chrom couldn't help but be impressed. The man's voice was cooly composed, perfectly accented. He immediately recognized a noble when he saw one. The archer fixed his gaze on Chrom.

"I would offer you my hand, milord, but I fear I may well fall off this damned horse if I did so."

Chrom sighed lightly, "So, you all fought those… Risen as well?

"Is that what we're calling them? Well, yeah. Only three or four. They're odd. Almost human, but seem to lack a brain or blood. Had to destroy their ability to fight outright to make the damned things vanish." Sully said, slinging her lance across her back.

"We faced thirteen of them. They would have gotten the better of us, if not for our new-found frie-" Chrom didn't finish his sentence, realizing Marth was nowhere to be seen.

The Prince cast a look at Frederick, surprised that this new stranger had been able to slip out without the Knight noticing.

"I… uh… forgive me, milord. I was keeping an eye on him, and yet… I didn't even realise…" Frederick was stammering a bit, and Chrom had to fight down a laugh at the Knight's apparent loss for words.

"All's well. I find it difficult to explain, but I do not find him to be an enemy of Ylisse. I've little doubt we will see more of him." Chrom said, giving Frederick a pat on the shoulder. The Knight grunted a bit, and nodded his agreement.

"Aye. I recognize he saved you when I could not, and he has my gratitude for that. But not quite my trust." The Knight said, clutching his lance.

"Wait, so… who the hell we talkin' about?" Sully asked, her eyes narrowed.

"We'll talk as we walk, old friend. We ought to head to the capital. You say this archer saved your life?" The cavalier nodded. "Then Virion, I would ask you to join us. We need skilled individuals for the moment, and I would like your bow on our side."

The archer narrowed his eyes at the offer, and Chrom realized that this Virion was smarter than he let on. Not because the archer found a trap in the Prince's offer, for there were none present, but rather because Chrom could see how his mind worked. He seemed very perceptive, and when the Prince's eyes met Virion's, Chrom couldn't shake the notion that the archer was seeing through him.

Maybe… just maybe…

"Very well. I'll join your outfit, Prince Chrom." The archer said, after a long silence.

"Good. With that settled, we head for Ylisstol."

* * *

"I… see." The Exalt said, leaning back in her chair, taking a sip of her tea. "There's quite a lot to unpack there… you mean to tell me that creatures resembling the dead walk the earth, that they came through a portal with a mysterious, masked man who bears the title of the Hero-King?"

Chrom nodded, staring into his sister's eyes. Emmeryn took in her brother's seriousness and sighed.

"I believe you, brother. We will discuss how to deal with that when the council session begins. But, Chrom, you said the bandits in Southtown were Plegian?" She asked.

"They were."

Emmeryn let out a breath. "I see." She made a motion to Phila, who stood watch over the Exalt's personal quarters. "Leave us, please."

The Wing-Commander nodded, stepping out of the room. This left the Exalt, her brother, and his retainer, all sitting on the exquisite furniture afforded to the living quarters of the Exalt.

"The nationality of these bandits is… troublesome. The Plegian royalty is due to visit us soon, perhaps even today." Emmeryn said, reclining in her seat.

"Then we have the chance to bring this matter to attention?" Chrom asked.

"Aye. You will have that chance."

"M-me? What about you?"

"I have the council to attend to, and it's about time you met with the Plegian royals. You are a prince after all." Emmeryn said, a coy smile gracing her features.

"But… what they be offended? They come, expecting to be greeted by the greatest authority we have, just to find me instead? They may not take me very seriously, Emmeryn." Chrom said, his voice becoming a plead. His sister scoffed lightly.

"Please. They will take you seriously. Everyone does. You're a natural leader, dear brother. And as for them being offended, I honestly find that unlikely. I have not dealt hands often with with him, but the king doesn't seem much for tradition." Emmeryn's voice was bright and kind, her smile successfully putting Chrom at ease.

"...Very well."

* * *

The Prince sighed, regretting that he had folded to his sister so easily, but not surprised. She has that effect on him.

"Frederick, why am I here?" He asked. The Knight chuckled lightly.

"You are a prince, milord. Sometimes, that means playing the role of politician." Frederick responded, frank as ever.

Chrom sat at the table of the Diplomat's Hall, a large wing in the Ylisstol Castle that was designed for meetings with foreign delegation. The room was easily the size of a banquet hall, filled with tables, extravagant both in its furniture, as well as its artwork that hung from the walls.

Chrom sat at one of the smaller tables, nervously fingering the pommel of his blade, still strapped to his side. He was told the Plegian envoy would be here soon, and he was more than a little antsy. The tales he had heard of the Plegian king… they called him a madman, ruthless and brutal, but shrewd, smarter than one would think. Chrom feared having to hold his own against such a man.

His only comfort was his retainer, looking equally as uncomfortable as his lord.

His thoughts were cut off by a door opening, and a servant poking his head in.

"Milord, the Plegian envoy is here… they send only one royal and his personal guard." The servant said, nervously.

Chrom narrowed his eyes. That was odd. Emmeryn had fully expected the entire family to be here, but now it was only the king?

"Send them in." The Prince said. The servant nodded and slipped out of the room.

When next the door opened, a single man walked in, slowly. He looked around the room, intelligent, discerning eyes taking everything in. When he finally sat down, his eyes still wondered. Chrom noticed the man didn't seem necessarily impressed, more… inquisitive.

"Are… are you the king of Plegia?" Mentally, the Prince kicked himself for his poor etiquette. To his side, Frederick coughed, no doubt meant to remind Chrom of how to properly conduct himself.

The Plegian merely crooked a brow, still looking around the room. When at last he spoke, he sounded almost bored.

"I am not. The King had matters to attend to." He said, tersely but neutrally.

"I… see. We had expected a meeting with the king, you see." Chrom said, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, and we expected a meeting with the Exalt." The Plegian turned, making eye contact with the Chrom at last. "A prince for a prince… it's fair enough, wouldn't you say?"

For a moment, Chrom found himself unable to speak.

When he looked into Virion's eyes, he had instantly realized that the man was incredibly intelligent. He could see it in his bearing, how his eyes looked the prince up and down, breaking down exactly who Chrom was. Chrom had thought Virion as certainly a genius.

But this… this stranger… When Chrom looked into his eyes, he couldn't fathom exactly what he was dealing with. He understood now that this… this was a genius. His eyes saw everything, his mind caught everything.

Even now, this stranger had Chrom figured out. The Prince knew it.

"F-forgive me, I forget myself," the Prince said, trying to smile kindly, "I am Prince Chrom, sister to Exalt Emmeryn, son of former Exalt Emmeryia." With this, the Prince stook out his arm, before realizing the royals didn't greet one another with clasped hands.

The man looked at Chrom's outstretched hand, then back into his eyes, discerning.

After a moment, the man smiled, a small, but genuine one, and he clasped the Prince's arm, returning the informal greeting.

And he did so in the way warriors typically do, Chrom noted idly, before the stranger spoke.

"It's good to meet you," he said. "I am the Prince of Plegia."

Then, a moment passed before he continued the rest of his greeting.

"You may call me Robin."


	2. Two Princes

**The Two Princes**

* * *

_One prince fights,_

_The other's given in._

_One protects life,_

_One doesn't want to live._

* * *

Frederick finally released a sigh. The two men before him had been going back and forth for sometime now, the tone never hostile or unfriendly, but both men clearly frustrated.

"Please, Prince Robin, you must understand that bandits from Plegia do present a threat to innocent civilians, especially near the border. Yet the bandits we faced were not too far from Ylisstol, which tells me that they have grown bolder. By your own father's admission, in a meeting with the Exalt, Plegia does not have a bandit problem. So you understand my concern?" Chrom said, his voice strained.

"I understand your concern, as well as your frustration, but I cannot do anything to assuage such woes. Plegian bandits invading Ylissean lands speaks more to baseborn prejudice than highborn political maneuvering." Robin replied. He brought a hand to his head, rubbing his temples. Frederick could not help but think that the Plegian looked forced in all his expressions.

"I do not desire the deaths of any innocents, and King Validar has pledged to take action against banditry close to the border, but you must understand that the royalty can't control the whims of highwaymen."

Chrom narrowed his eyes. He had very little doubt that the man before him outclassed his intelligence several times over. He could see it in Robin's eyes, silver matching his hair. But, Chrom had always been told that, though he could be dense at times, he had a way of seeing through people. Seeing what they really are. When he looked at Robin, he saw an unparalleled genius. A man who did not want his station. He saw a sadness lurking somewhere deep.

He saw a liar, and he saw through every word.

"Forgive me, however, you must understand that words alone mean little, even spoken by a crown prince." Chrom noticed Robin wince a little as he spoke. "I would ask that you give us something concrete. Validar saying that he will crackdown on banditry does little to reassure me that my subjects will not wake up to a blade at their throat and their village ablaze." Frederick noted that the prince's tone carried more of an edge than the knight had ever heard from him.

Robin regarded him, his look cold and calculating, the afternoon sun casting odd colors on him as it shone through the stained glass windows. It took Chrom a moment before he realized that he had stood up while speaking.

"What can we give you that is concrete?" The silver haired man asked, rising to his feet as well. "My heart weeps with your citizens, but aside from crackdowns, there's little more that we can do. I know that the rumor going around tells a tale of instigation, a power hungry monarch wanting a war with his old enemy, using bandits to push that enemy into starting one. You would do well to separate fact from fiction. The facts are that Ylisse has a bandit problem, and some of these bandits are Plegian. You have your own army, as well. Use it."

"Our own army is still mending from the war, even after ten years. Plegians may remember how violent my father was to them, as they have the right to, but they forget that we suffered for his bloodlust as well. The only military force we have operating at full capacity are the Knights' Order, and the Pegasus Knights. We lack the manpower to send large armies through the south to dig out every Plegian bandit."

Chrom couldn't hold back his anger now, his frustration growing too strong to hide. He saw through every lie that Robin spoke, and the Plegian prince was aware of it.

"Do you know how many people the last group of bandits killed, before we finally put them down?" Robin shook his head. "287, that we _know_ of. And if you would sit idle, allow this problem to continue, then you are just as guilty as the highwaymen."

It happened for less than a second, just for the blink of an eye, but for a moment, Robin's mask fell. Chrom could see beneath that cold, intelligent veneer, if only for a moment.

He saw a pained, tired man.

Chrom's temper cooled as quickly as it had flared, and he sat down with a sigh. Robin remained standing, but his emotionless mask returned.

"Forgive me, I… I got a bit passionate. But my point does stand. Would you inherit a throne of lies?" He said, leaning back in his seat.

"My prince, you understand little. I will inherit nothing." Robin's tone was only factual, lacking anger or bitterness. "The heir-apparent would be my sister, crown princess Aversa."

Chrom nodded, taking this information in stride. After a moment, Robin sat down across from him. The two sat in silence for a moment, lost in thought. When it was broken, it was by the door opening. Frederick immediately went on guard, relaxing only when he saw the colors of Ylissean guards entering. With them was a Chon'sinese man the knight didn't recognize.

He had all the appearance of a warrior; light armor covering his chest and legs, ending above muscular biceps. Strong shoulders, two blades at his side, and a dour expression, this newcomer clearly came at the permission of the palace guard, easing Frederick's concern. The swordsman knelt beside Robin, whispering something to him. After a moment, the young prince nodded, before looking back at Chrom and Frederick.

"Forgive me, milords. This is Lon'qu, my retainer. He only comes to tell me that my king has recalled us in urgency. Forgive me, but I must depart.." Robin said. Not much one for ceremony, he stood, bowing a bit to Chrom, and giving Frederick a slight nod. As he turned to leave, however, he stopped for a moment, turning back to face the Ylissean prince.

"...It would be prudent to make better use of Pegasus Knights in order to catch bandits more effectively. I would recommend having squads trained for rapid dispatch at any time, located throughout the are of the bandit attacks. Send them in teams, one rider and one passenger for every pegasus. It isn't much, but next time, the bandits would be lucky to survive _one _raid on a town."

And with that, without waiting for any response, he left. Frederick did not miss the glare from Lon'qu had angled at Robin as they exited.

After the two Plegians and the guards left, Chrom sighed once more, but he wrote down what Robin had told him.

"What did you make of the prince, milord?" Frederick asked, deferential to Chrom's sense of discernment.

"...He… he was not a bad man. Indeed, within him I sense a genuinely good person. But that person fights a demon." Chrom's eyes spaced out, getting lost in thought. "He certainly seemed to have his demons, anyway."

Frederick nodded, agreeing with the prince's observation. The knight could sense an overwhelming intelligence from the Plegian, as well as a definite conscious. Robin seemed truly bothered by the notion of innocent lives being lost, even if they were citizens of his nation's biggest rival.

But he also sensed a darkness. It was in the corners of his eyes, and in his very countenance as well.

"Come," Chrom said, after finishing writing, "We have much to discuss with Emmeryn."

* * *

After the two men left, a shadow in the corner of the room moved, the dark blue of the spectre's outfit blending perfectly with the shade of the room, in the parts that the light from the afternoon sun did not hit.

The shadow raised a hand to its mask, the groan it let out very feminine.

"What in all of the hells…" Lucina muttered. Why was everything wrong? Validar did not take the kingship of Plegia until after the Mad King's War. And… Validar was Robin's father? In truth, that explained a great deal. Eyewitnesses do pin Chrom's best friend as his murderer, which is effectively implicating Robin as the killer. It was said that Chrom's friend had dived in front of an attack launched by Validar first, betraying the Exalt immediately after. That had always been a source of confusion for Lucina. Her father's killer had nearly laid down their life for him, just to then kill him immediately after the fact?

Then it hit her. A bloodcurse. It was a rare, nearly unheard of curse, but Validar both had the means and the will to use one.

So that was it. Robin wasn't a traitor, but a victim. Lucina found herself feeling something akin to relief. She knew what to do.

This time, she would save her father. Perhaps this meant saving his tactician.

* * *

"You shouldn't have done that."

Robin let out a groan. He had known this to be coming, but he had hoped perhaps his retainer would let it go.

"They're innocent civilians, Lon'qu. I… had to do something," he said. He looked down at his hands, holding the reigns of the horse he rode slowly upon, alongside his retainer as the two returned to Plegia.

"I understand that, but all the same. Your father will not be happy," the swordsman warned.

"I know. Hence is why I will not tell him."

"He will find out."

"Eventually, but that is a problem for the future."

The swordsman did not offer a reply to this, but Robin knew he did not like the prince's sentiments. Lon'qu eventually sighed, shaking his head a bit as he did so.

"What do you think we should do about our follower?" He eventually asked. Robin smirked, turning back to find the shape of a person far off in the distance, who had followed them for some time.

"Leave them be. Perhaps they have something of value to say."

"Hmph."

The two rode on in silence.

* * *

It had taken two weeks for the pair to return to Plegia Castle, the body of the Fell Dragon looming forebodingly over it. Their follower maintained a constant distance, and it was clear they intended to stay hidden. Indeed, they were no amateur either; both Robin, and more impressively, Lon'qu, had lost sight of them a few times. Were they less skilled or experienced, they probably would not have noticed the follower in the first place.

As the pair entered the gates of the fortress walls, they split ways. Robin was off to meet his father, while Lon'qu almost certainly went to train. Robin entered the actual castle, immediately finding someone waiting for him.

"Robin! It is good to see you well!" Aversa said, a bright smile on her face. She immediately pulled her adoptive brother into an embrace, albeit a short one. Robin could not help but smile a bit himself, his sister was able to pull out that side of him.

"How did the meeting go?" She asked after a moment.

"About as well as you would expect."

"Bah, I am sure you did well." She said, her smile still bright.

"Thank you, sister. But I must confess some curiosity. Why did Validar recall us? Is everything okay?" He asked, to be met with a shrug.

"I have not witnessed anything unusual. Father did say he needed to show me something tonight, but I cannot claim any idea as to what." She said. "Perhaps he worried for your safety. Ylisse does have a bandit problem, after all, not to mention that many of the old veterans would leap at the chance to kill any Plegian, much less a prince."

Robin's smile wavered a bit. He was always quick to forget how unflinchingly she believed Validar, and every word he said.

"I did not experience any such violence, dear sister, and I doubt he would recall me out of fear for my safety."

"Come now, he cares for you… in his own way." Aversa said, seeming a little uncomfortable.

"Yes, perhaps he does." Robin replied. "But now, I must go meet with him, and offer a debriefing. I will speak to you soon, my sister."

She waved a goodbye to him as he walked away, headed toward the throne room now. Many soldiers and servants nodded to him as he passed, some of the more zealous bowing. Most ignored him, as he preferred it.

Finally, he opened the doors of the throne room. It was a dark room, light only coming in through stained glass, casting everything in shades of red. Along the walls were paintings and enscriptions worshipping Grima, and around the throne, the Mark of Grima was patterened into the carpet. Robin felt his right hand burn.

"Ah," his father said from atop the throne, "the _Heart _returns to us safely."

Robin paused for a moment. It was hardly unusual for Validar to refer to him as the Heart, but never had there been such a venom to it. He knew Validar resented him a great deal, but that was mostly evident in how he neglected the prince.

"Tell me, how did your meeting go?" He asked after a moment.

"I only met with the prince, not the Exalt. He seems a good man, more a warrior than a politician." Robin responded.

"Now, dear Heart, you know that this is not what I want from you."

Robin swallowed, hating himself for his actions now.

"...From what I have observed… as well as from what I have heard from the prince himself… the Ylissean military is far weaker than we initially believed. They suspect the bandits are supported by our government, but they cannot even spare the manpower to fight them. They only truly have aeiral might, as well as cavalry power from their Knights' Order. We outclass their numbers, and I expect our soldiers to be more experienced."

Within him, an odd sensation bubbled to life. Guilt.

"So if we were to invade…" Validar said, allowing the question to hang.

"It is… unlikely they alone can fight us off. However, they maintain close ties to Regna Ferox, which I suspect holds roughly double the number of our own army." Robin said.

"I see. And your solution?" Validar asked, expectantly.

Robin sighed.

"If we fight Ylisse in a conventional war, they have little chance of victory. I do not know the exact number of their military, but I do not think it is even half the size of our own. Were we to attack, with lightning precision and overwhelming force, we could bring about a capitulation in about six months. We will be hard pressed, however. Should Ferox hold true to their alliance, they will at least send the bulk of their armies, if not all of them. This comes at the cost of slow mobilization, however. I suspect they will take at least 8 months to mobilize for war, and if we can capitulate Ylisse before Ferox can intervene, they may just stay out of the war entirely."

Validar simply nodded, muttering that he would run it by the generals, as close to a 'job well done' as Robin got.

Not that he was exactly searching for accolades at present.

"So," Robin began, "why did you call us back so early? Is something wrong?"

Even in the darkened room, Robin could see the king's wicked grin. "No, Heart. Everything is perfect. I will share more as the time comes to do so. For now, you are dismissed."

* * *

For the rest of the day, Robin did as he normally did. He hid away in his room, desperate to lose himself in a book, anything to distract him from reality. Reality was not very accomodating of his intended goal, however. He found himself unable to focus on anything aside from the destruction that would rain down on Ylisse. Destruction that he was largely to blame for.

Eventually, he set down his novel, accepting that he would not soon get any reprieve. He decided to take a walk along the castle grounds. As he left his room, he found the dark hall before him empty. The setting sun cast precious little light to this wing of the castle, not that it mattered. The only thing that was on this wing was Robin's room. As such, servants and guards did not typically venture to this area. Initially, Validar had meant this to be a sign of reverance for the vessel of his god. Over time, as Validar's reverance turned to regret over the 'unworthy vessel', Robin's private island of solitude became less a paradise and more a prison. The only people who ventured here were Aversa for her visits, and Lon'qu to check on his safety. Aside from the two of them, Robin was alone for almost the entirety of his days in the castle.

But now, as he stood in the dark hall, he found he was not alone now. He drew his sword, and gave a long, irritated sigh.

"You are certainly no amateur in the field of stealth, I will grant you. But this game grows tiresome. Reveal yourself, and tell me what you want from me, Ylissean." He said, his bronze blade glinting in what little sunlight there was.

In front of him, from the shadows emerged a person dressed in blue. His- _no, _Robin thought, looking closer and narrowing his eyes, _Her_ face was covered by a butterfly mask, and a broadsword hung at her hip, the design one he found eerily familiar.

"Peace, Prince Robin. I intend you no harm," she said, her voice low, having an odd, throaty sound, and he realized she was trying to disguise it.

"Many would-be assassins have claimed similar. Forgive me, but tonight, you will have to work for your bounty."

And with that, he lunged at her.

Robin had, to his name, 15 years of training with a blade by this point, nearly since he was born. While he was not as great as Lon'qu, he could give the dour Chon'sinese a run for his money, occasionally even winning.

This masked woman, in a single, fluid motion, drew her blade, disarmed him, and knocked a leg out from under him using the flat of her blade. She rested a foot lightly on his chest, blade angled at his neck.

"Please, heed my words. I wish only to speak with you." She said. She removed her foot from his chest, sheathed her blade, and offered him a hand that he reluctantly accepted. Never before had he been so soundly beaten. Part of him was insulted. Mostly, he was impressed.

"Perhaps you would be inclined to allow us the use of your chambers?" she asked, "I… am wary of listeners."

Robin, mostly out of a newly found respect for her, nodded, leading her back to his room, closing and locking the door behind them. His candles and lantern were still lit, casting the room in a warm, inviting light. It also highlighted the plethora of books he had strewn about, many of them historical novels that were still open.

He looked at the masked woman to find her glancing around the room cautiously. Her hair was blue, matching her outfit, and it was intricately done to give the impression of being short. She really was doing her best to keep her gender a secret, and it probably would work on most people. Hell, it would have worked on him two years ago, truth be told.

In the light, he could take a better look at her. She was painfully thrail, as if food had not been a luxury afforded to her, and she was much shorter than Robin felt she should be, perhaps pointing to stunted growth. Despite all of her skill with a sword, she was still very gaunt looking, and looked particularly unhealthy.

"So, your name?" Robin asked. She hesitated, taking a moment before answering.

"...You may call me Marth." She responded, her voice still forced to a lower octave. Robin smirked slightly.

"That's an odd name for a woman, Ylissean." He said simply. She swung around, angling a shocked look at him, sputtering wildly for a moment.

"I… I am- Why would you... " She kept trying and failing to form sentences before giving up, releasing a frustrated sigh, and looking downwards.

"How did you know?" She finally asked, her voice taking on a much higher pitch that must have been her real voice. Robin shrugged.

"Hang out with Lon'qu enough, he starts to rub off on you in ways. I suspect he would have deduced it instantly as well. But it matters little, your gender will remain a secret. For now, however, why did you seek me out?" He asked.

She let out a breath, before angling her face at him, "...I would ask you tell me the history of the past twenty years. Something went wrong."

* * *

Aversa stared at her brother's face, struggling to comprehend. This… she knew that this _thing_ was not truly her brother, and yet… he looked identical almost, just older. This man, Validar had called the new hierophant, had allegedly shown up out of the blue. The king was ecstatic, Aversa… she was in shock.

"I… I do not understand. What is this?" She asked, subconsciously backing away. Her brother's face laughed, breaking into a feral grim.

"I inhabit the body of the man who was once your brother. I am Grima, in Robin's flesh." The hierophant said, still grinning. The red light of the throneroom in the setting sun cast him a menacing shadow.

"My… my brother is dead?" She asked, her voice carefully even.

"Your brother is in his room, at present," Validar said. "What stands before you is much greater."

Grima smiled, his teeth like pointed fangs. "I come from a time some twenty years hence, after the man that was your brother became one with me. I am the one who ended Ylisse, the Shepherds, and the Exalt himself. But alas, you lot will certainly not understand." He said, letting out a sigh.

"The timeline that I have found myself in has been thrown out of whack. Validar was to take the throne, but that wasn't supposed to happen for another two, three years. Gangrel was meant to take the throne first, and his war would plunge Plegia into chaos that Validar would manipulate."

The Avatar let out a breath before continuing. "The truth of the matter is that this is for the better. We don't have to wait for the Mad King, hell, we could invade Ylisse now and be done with it."

Validar smirked, "The Heart has already drafted the needed plans. We could make to march as soon as you are prepared, milord." The Fell Dragon nodded slightly before Validar continued, "We could also prepare The Heart to merge with you."

To this, Grima let out a mirthless laugh. "No. Absolutely not. You produced a very capable Heart, Validar, but not an obedient one in the slightest. He has made every waking moment hell. Even now, after being joined for seven years, Robin continues to resist me."

Validar sputtered for a moment. "I… I see. Then what should we do about the current Heart? And won't you need a new one?"

Grima turned his gaze over his two servants. Aversa felt herself wither under his eyes, and her father, she could tell, did the same.

"Whom do you serve?" He asked, his question dangerously simple.

"You, milord," both Validar and Aversa said in unison.

"Then know this to be a fact. Robin is too dangerous… far too dangerous to be allowed to live. Without him, Ylisse will most certainly fall. Kill him." His order was plain, simple.

Aversa felt herself beginning to sweat, unbidden. She knew, too well, what it was she had to do.

"Milord," Grima turned to face her, "Allow me. If he were to die, it must be by the hand of someone who loved him."

Grima stared into her eyes for a moment, before nodding slightly.

"Go."

Aversa took no more time to collect herself. She pulled out her knife as she walked out of the throneroom, dread filling her heart, knowing what comes next.

* * *

"So, how did your meeting go?" Emmeryn asked, smiling coyly.

"About as well as you would expect."

"Oh come now, I am certain you did well," she said, reclining a little in her chair she sat in across from her brother. "At the very least, our countries are not at war. That alone means you did better than many had expected."

"I do confess some frustration," he said simply.

"I know, Chrom. I feel it as well, you know," she said, eyes downcast. "But tell me, what did you think of Prince Robin? I've yet to meet him."

"He is… he's a good man, buried under darkness. An unparalleled genius, of that I have very little doubt. I believe he knows that his father sends bandits into our country, but is powerless to stop him. He gace me advice that may help us combat them, anyways." he said, the image of Robin's tired eyes burning into his mind. He had only seen the mask fall for a moment, but that was all he needed.

"I see. Let us pray that there is hope yet for him, then."

Chrom gave a simple nod, his mind drifting.

Robin had been enigmatic, yet… there was something oddly familiar about him.

...And the prince didn't even _look _Plegian…

* * *

As asked, Robin began to recount the last twenty years of history on the Archaenean continent. Lucina found that, just as he had been in her own time, Robin was exceptionally well-read. He was able to break down everything she needed to know, and in very digestible ways. He began with her grandfather's war, known to the Ylisseans as the "Grand Conquest", and to the Plegians as the "Great Incursion". More or less, this war followed her timeline's, only innocuous differences existed.

Where it seemed the timelines diverged was post-war Plegia. In her own, the Mad King Gangrel had filled the power vacuum left by the dissolution of the pre-war government. In this one, however, Validar had moved for the throne as well. This left Plegia in a state of civil war, one that lasted three years. So bloody the war was, the populace called it "The War of the Lost Generation". Almost an entire generation of Plegians, wiped out, Robin had said. That's why men of Validar's age were such a rarity now.

In the end, Validar had won the war. Not due to overwhelming military power. Not due to a genius strategy. In the end, after all the fighting had ended, Validar simply had the army with less dead in their ranks.

Lucina had listened to Robin intently, but she had noticed things about the prince-tactician. His eyes held the same intelligence that she remembered from her time, but this man looked… older, in a way. Despite being only nineteen, if her math was correct, the man before her had such tired eyes. Not fatigued, or sleepy even. He looked as though life had grown tiresome.

Lucina did not know very much about the Robin in her time. He had always been secretive about his past; his mother had died during childbirth, and he had run away from home before he had even seen fifteen years. There had always been a quiet sadness to him, but the man talking to her now seemed… so much worse.

Finally, he finished, speaking of recent and successful efforts to rebuild the Plegian army and strengthen the border. After he was done, he watched her closely, and Lucina found herself intensely uncomfortable under his gaze. She could feel him see through her, see her through her guise, and working out just who she really was.

"So tell me, why d-" before Robin could get the question out there was a bang at the door, making both of them jump. He nodded to Lucina, who promptly opened the window and began to scale down, hoping she wasn't making the wrong choice.

* * *

Aversa barged in, not a second too late. Marth had only just escaped, and Robin had not much wanted to explain that to her. But, Robin noted how delirious Aversa looked. She was sweating, shaking a little bit, her hair very clearly having been touselled about by her wandering hands. The second she saw him, she gave the most uneasy smile he had ever seen.

"Brother dear, it is good to see you," she said, her voice carefully even. Her arms were behind her back as she spoke. "Unfortunately, the conditions of my visit are hardly favorable."

Robin quirked an eyebrow, "Oh? What are the conditions?" He asked. Aversa's smile tightened, and Robin noticed tears beginning to fall down her face. Her arms dropped to her side, the dagger held in one of them immediately visible.

"M-my good K-k-king, Validar the First, h-has ordered your death." Her voice was more strained than he had ever heard, and Robin realized why she was there. This… this was bound to happen someday. Robin had expected this, sooner or later. He had just expected his death to come from merging with Grima, as his 'destiny' had been. Perhaps, then, this was for the better.

"I… see. Very well. Do as you must, sister," he said, making his best attempt at an easy smile.

"Dear brother, when is the last time that smile reached your eyes?" She asked, trembling now.

"When I last had my mother. But such is the past. Here and now, you have a task. I will not resent you for it," Robin said, closing his eyes in wait, hearing her approach. "No matter our family, I love you as though you were of my own blood."

"I… must do this." She was only about two feet away from him now.

"I know," he said, his eyes still closed, his smile still easy. He knew death came, and he willed it come sooner.

What decended upon him, however, was not the cold metal of a knife, but the warm embrace of a hug.

"I love you. Do not forget that," Aversa sobbed into his shoulder. Robin returned her embrace, nodding, ready to hear the sound of a blade splitting flesh.

And then he heard it.

But it was not his flesh.

Aversa staggered back, her dagger buried into her stomach. Robin watched, wide-eyed as she yelped in pain. She… she had done it while her arms were around him, dropping one arm down, and stabbing herself in the stomach. But, why?

She flashed a tear-filled gaze up at him, a smile on her face as blood leaked from her lips.

"My brother… Run, you fool… the other… the soldiers… they will not be so… so lenient. Go. Go far away. Do not look back," she said, staggering down to a knee.

"Aversa…" he saif, desperately wanting to help his sister.

"GO! If you linger here, they will find you. I can handle Validar, and the blade did not hit vitals. I will be fine. Go, you genius idiot."

Robin nodded lightly, heading for the door before freezing. He could hear armored boots storming down the hall. That left…

He turned toward the open window, cast one more solemn look toward his sister, and leapt out.

* * *

Lucina heard the crash, some twenty feet away from her. She came running to investigate, just to find Robin on the ground, writhing in pain. She stood, stock still for a moment. Had he leapt from his window, some 200 feet in the air, at the top of the castle? How did he survive? That fall should have…

Then she saw the green colored tome, a few feet away from the prince. He had used wind magic to break his fall, huh?

She had to suppress a smirk, instead moving over and offering a hand.

"This requires an explanation," she said simply, her hand outstretched.

When he looked at her, she knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He had the look of a cornored animal.

"We're in danger. You need to go, Marth. The Palace Guard will be out for my blood," he said, coughing from the pain of his fall before taking Lucina's hand.

"I will protect you. Stay with me, I will be your shield," Robin's brow quirked at her seriousness, but he nodded once.

"To escape the grounds, we need to get through the gate. It takes forever to close, but even so, we should not dally," he said. Lucina nodded, before heading to the nearest gate she had seen, Robin close at hand.

She wasn't certain what was happening, nor why Robin's life was under threat, but ultimately, he was the cornerstone needed for the days to come. Perhaps he was 'fated' to become the Fell Dragon. Perhaps he was 'fated' to become the man who killed her father.

But when she looked at him, she did not see a monster, nor a murderer. When she saw his tired eyes, his fake smiles, his emotionless mask, she realized she was looking at another victim of Grima.

And she would save him, just as she will with her father.

This certainty of mind became movement of hand with ease, her blade moving quickly, slicing through the guard who had moved to cut them down. He had not even had his blade fully drawn yet.

As they ran, Lucina became aware of the number of guards gaining on them. She could outrun them no problem, and she felt Robin normally could as well, but his fall left him limping a bit. She saw the guards closing in, and swung about to face them before Robin cut her off.

"Marth!" he yelled. "3 o'clock! Take them!"

Lucina turned to see 5 guards running at them from the right. This, mixed with the 20 or so that had been behind them lead to a rather negative assessment. Still, Robin looked confident about some idea or another, so Lucina elected to trust him as best she could. She ran to take on the 5 guards from the right.

The first yelled some battlecry, but he couldn't complete it before his throat had been cut out. The second two leveled axes at her, but she made use of her superior mobility, weaving in and out of the blows. Her blade cut one down, she crashed the hilt of her sword into the other's temple, rendering him unconscious. The next two had stopped, watching her fight, before turning and running.

She turned back, half expecting to find Robin had been beset upon by the enemy. What she found instead was Robin kneeling on the ground, arm smoking, a graveyard before him. All twenty that had pursued them were dead, most having burn marks, and she had not even seen it happen.

When she faced Robin earlier, she had not been very impressed.

She was beginning to change her opinion.

She ran to him, grabbing him by the arm before pulling him into the fastest run he could manage.

The gates had begun to close, but the two made it through. They had escaped Castle Plegia, it seemed.

Or so Lucina thought, before she heard a sound that instantly put all of her nerves on edge.

The sound of 50 bows being drawn at once.

A glance backwards confirmed her fear. The Plegian guards stood atop the walls and the gatehouse that the pair had just crossed over. They all had their aim focused on the two.

Lucina looked at the man hobbling along beside her. She realized how imperative it was that he live. Plegia, Valm, Grima. If anyone could protect Ylisse, it was him.

She knew what she had to do.

She shoved him to the side, at the last minute, just before the archers released their volleys. She realized that she would not be fast enough to avoid, but it was likely that they would miss Robin, his position having changed at the last minute.

She looked at the arrows, coming to bring her death. She took a deep, peaceful breath. This was the price she had to pay. She accepted it for what it was. The world would be safe, so long as Robin had survived.

She turned, going to give a brave smile to the prince, before realizing he was not where she had pushed him off too.

She heard the sounds of arrows striking flesh.

She turned forward.

She found Robin's smile, dripping blood, arrows imbeded in his back. He stood before her, as a wall. He had faced her, hoping only to keep her safe, even if he had no idea as to who she was.

"R-... Run…" the prince said, before falling foward, face down in the desert sand.

Lucina, stood, eyes wide, in shock. She looked at Robin, and she counted at least 12 arrows protruding from his back. The rest lie scattered around her. She knew not what to do, but she heard the sound of bows being drawn.

So she did what he had told her to do.

She picked him up, and ran.


	3. Fire and Ash

**Fire and Ash**

* * *

_Fires burn tall,_

_Men cry for death._

_Screaming in her mind,_

_Until her dying breath._

* * *

Lucina stumbled, gasping and heaving. Robin's body weighed heavily in her arms, arrows still protruding from his back. She had been running for, give or take, four hours. It was only due to her exalted blood that she had made it this far, avoiding the armies searching for the Prince. The Plegian desert had grown to be freezing in the night air, and she was aware that she needed to gain more distance, but she feared her strength was running out.

Indeed, her stamina was impressive, but it was not unlimited. Eventually, she stumbled upon an oasis, and seeing no search parties in the distance, she took the opportunity to gather her strength, and tend to her charge.

The oasis wasn't too big, but it was sheltered by dunes on all sides, closing it off from the world around it. The dunes surrounding it were big enough that most armies would most likely avoid it, and her heavy foot falls in hard packed sand went unheard by any human ears. Robin stirred in her arms.

She was rather knowledgeable in traditional first aide in addition to healing magic, both thanks to her Aunt Lissa, but this was far beyond her capabilities. She sat him by the water, the shade of night accentuating his white hair and pale skin, giving him all the appearance of a ghost.

She then set about removing the arrows. The process was… painful. She had to go through, remove each one by one, and close the wound using healing magic. This was far from a permanent solution, it only kept him from bleeding out. His internals would require very extensive healing efforts, and it was something far beyond her capabilities.

Robin woke up several times in the process, only to then black out from the pain moments later. Eventually, the process was finally done, and the prince rested as peacefully as he could. Lucina simply sat beside him for a moment, trying to understand.

He hadn't possessed any expectation of survival, that had been clear to her. He had charged headfirst, not giving a second thought. It was as though he _wanted _death.

She also couldn't help but wonder just how he had moved so fast, but she regarded that as a less important question. Perhaps the more important question, and the one that still plagued her, was _why _he was here in the first place. Why was this time different then one from whence she came, and what would be the after effects? Validar ascending to the throne so early changed everything, and she was not certain any action on her part could bring time back to its original state.

Then there was Robin himself. In truth, Lucina no longer blamed him for the death of her father, seeing that the tactician was as much a victim as the exalt. The hard part, however, would be convincing her allies the same. Her friends knew that Robin had been the most likely candidate for her father's murderer, and in truth, many of them would see him dead. Gerome especially, who believed firmly that the death of Chrom was the beginning of the end. Lucina agreed with him to a point, yet she had little doubt that Gerome would not try to make a move against the tactician, the first chance he got.

"I… I'm sorry…" Robin's voice, weak and small, drew Lucina from her thoughts.

"Do not waste your energy on such things," she answered, gruffly, though she didn't bother disguising her voice anymore. She turned to face him to find his eyes closed. She realized after a moment that he was dreaming.

"I'm sorry…" he said again, his voice soft.

She could tell that whatever dream he was having was hardly present. It continued on for a moment, the young prince apologizing for a wrongdoing Lucina didn't know. His mantra only changed once, before he drifted back to a more peaceful sleep.

"I'm sorry… mother…"

Lucina raised an eyebrow, curious now. Robin, however, had already drifted off. She pondered the prince for a moment.

The fact he would so willingly give his life away gave her no small amount of distress. While she was certain her comrades would disagree, she knew the truth. Robin's life held immeasurably more value than her own. In the events to come, he was a far greater necessity than she. Now, she had to find a way to convey this, once the prince had returned to better health.

For the moment, she stood watch over her charge, the endless Plegian night stretching on across the silent desert.

* * *

_Men screamed, women cried, the children were all already dead. Fire and ash, her world was fire and ash. She watched as it consumed her father, her mother, her aunt. Her brother fell to the flames, followed by the world around her._

_The fire, the flames, it burned tall, yet everything still seemed so dark. She looked around, finding herself in a dead world. Armies fought him, the Shepherds opposed him, but Grima conquered all._

_Fire and ash._

_Her world was fire and ash._

* * *

Lucina woke from her nightmare to the sound of movement, a soft foot gliding across the sand. The moon still hung in the sky, though it was clear that dawn would break within the next two hours.

Lucina heard the movement again, and by the next moment, she was wide awake, blade drawn and at ready, a lifetime of sleeping lightly paying off.. She faced the direction of the sound, keeping the still unconscious Robin safe behind her.

"You really should mind who you point that at," a voice called, instantly putting Lucina on edge. It was familiar, and not in a good way. Feminine, intelligent, and shrewd.

"Perhaps I may lower the blade, should you show yourself," Lucina offered. A mirthless laugh responded.

Through the shrubbery of the oasis, coming by the water's edge, was a woman in a black robe with hair to match. Her skin was nigh flawless, but extremely pale, despite Lucina knowing that this was a Plegian. When she looked closer, the swordsmaid began to stammer, realizing who this was.

"L-L-Lady Tharja?!" She hadn't even bothered trying to disguise her voice this time, her surprise overwhelming her composure. The dark mage raised an eyebrow, but rather than question how Lucina knew who she was, she seemed interested only in Robin.

"I would ask who you are, as well as why you hold the prince behind you," she said, no small amount of steel to her voice. Lucina cleared her throat.

"I am called Marth. Robin is… my charge, currently," the swordsmaid replied, Falchion lowering.

"Ah, a bodyguard? You do not seem to be doing a very good job of it, if the prince's current state is any indication," Tharja responded, a slight smirk on her face. "I would tend to him, I trust you will not run me through?"

Lucina nodded, sheathing her blade. The woman before her was far different from the Tharja she remembered. In her time, Tharja had been obsessed with Robin to an unhealthy extent, constantly pining for his love, only to find her affections unrequited. This made the dark mage rather… difficult to be around. She fought alongside the Shepherds without fail, but she was cold, abrasive, and given to a rather difficult disposition.

This timeline's Tharja, however, seemed different. When she checked Robin's pulse, she did not seem to dally longer than she needed. When she murmured spells, none of them were an experimental attraction hex. This Tharja seemed to care very much for Robin, but in a different manner.

"May I ask, what is your affiliation with Robin?" Lucina asked, after a moment of silence. Tharja seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"He is… very dear to me. I owe him a great deal, and I would see him repaid for what he has done for me," she said, a small smile coming to her lips. She continued her work, casting hexes, and muttering other spells Lucina could not recognize.

It took roughly an hour, Tharja working ceaselessly, Lucina keeping vigil over the two of them, after telling the dark mage just what had happened to Robin. When she was finally done, Tharja rose, swaying a little, but waving off Lucina before she could offer help.

"It… is fortunate that I found you… he most certainly would have died from internal injuries before another night could fall. What I have done is not a permanent fix, but he should wake soon. He will be able to walk, at least, but you will certainly want to get a true healer sooner rather than later. To where are you headed?" Tharja asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"Ylisse. He will be safer there than in Plegia," Lucina said. The shorter woman seemed taken aback for a moment.

"The Ylisseans would see him dead! You lead him to a grave!" Tharja said, her fists balling, finding new reserves of energy.

"I am Ylissean, and I would see him live. Where he goes, my blade follows. Any who would harm him must first get through me," Lucina said, simply.

"I will not pretend to understand why Validar ordered the death of his only son, but how is one to know that the Ylisseans will not do worse?" The dark mage asked.

"I know the Exalt. Emmeryn would not sentence a man to such a fate. Even if she did, they would have to tear through me first," Lucina replied. Her confidence gave the shorter woman pause.

"Tell me," Tharja said, a curious tone, "Why do you pledge to protect him? Are you a personal friend, a lover, or simply a follower?"

"I… know the truth. In days to come, Robin will prove instrumental; not for Ylisse's favor, but for all of mankind's. I have a duty to uphold, and as of now, that duty means pledging to protect him."

Tharja nodded, slowly, before turning and beginning to walk away. She stopped, at the edge of the oasis, turning back slightly.

"Keep an eye on him, Marth," she said, quietly. "Robin is a good man, but he has suffered more than anyone ever should. He did not hesitate to throw his life away once, and would not hesitate if the opportunity arose again. Tell him I was here, that I have matters to attend to, but I will be there when he needs me."

Lucina nodded to the dark mage as she disappeared over the dunes. She sat by the water's side, taking a moment to polish Falchion, despite the fact that the blade never lost its shine. It was a nervous habit of hers, but she found a certain catharsis in it. Perhaps it reminded her of her father, perhaps it simply made her think of better times. She just knew that it brought her a certain level of comfort.

Robin began to stir a bit, drawing Lucina's attention. After a moment, his eyes snapped open. He turned his gaze on her, and again, Lucina could feel it. In that moment, he was dissecting everything she was, seeing past every wall she had. Intelligent, grey eyes stared, unblinking, breaking down the person they focused on.

He then turned on his side, and vomited.

"Ugh," he said afterwards, "Did you heal me with dark magic?" He asked.

"I… no. 'Twas Lady Tharja," Lucina replied. Robin groaned and sat up, writhing in pain as he did so.

"I have not been healed by dark magic before," Lucina began. "Is it truly so different from regular healing magic?"

"Yes, it is," he said, clutching a spot on his chest. "Normally, healing magic works by accelerating the natural healing process of one's body. Dark magic… ah… is more like forcefully mending your body together. It… does not feel very good, and it is only temporary. But, Tharja was here?"

"Yes. She said she had matters to attend to, but when you truly need her, she'll be there."

Robin nodded slowly, his gaze again turning on Lucina. She tried not to wilt under his stare, but it was odd, feeling completely exposed such as this. His eyes narrowed after a moment.

"Forgive me, but I fear I have a great many questions. Foremost of which, who the hell are you?" He asked.

"I am Marth," she responded, voice carefully even as she met his gaze.

"A chosen name," he said with a smirk. "I can accept that you don't wish to tell me your true name, or show your face. What I cannot accept, however, is not knowing anything about who you are. So tell me, _who _are you?"

She maintained his stare for another moment, before breaking and looking at the water's surface.

"I… am your shield," she added, a small smirk in place. He scoffed, clearly not appreciating her lack of a true answer.

"And why is that? I do not know you, and as far as I know, you do not know me."

She sighed, unsure of how much to say.

"I have… knowledge of events to come. Events that you play a pivotal role in. It would not due to see your place vacant," despite not making eye contact any longer, she could feel his gaze harden.

"Ah… a foreseer?" His question seemed more to humor her than out of genuine belief.

"...Of sorts, yes," she said, cautiously. "And as a foreseer, I must reprimand you for your actions."

He raised a brow, "Reprimand me?"

"Aye. What you did was most foolish. Your life has far more value than you seem willing to place on it," she said, tone completely neutral.

"So what? I should have just sat there, and let you die?"

"Yes."

Lucina was meeting his stare once again now, her eyes conveying her seriousness, her absolute certainty on the matter, despite being sealed behind her mask. He scoffed.

"You will forgive me, foreseer, for not being able to do that," he said, shaking his head with incredulity.

"Robin, in the days yet to pass, you will be a pillar that holds up the world. Your life holds irredeemably more value than my own. 'Twould not do to see a king sacrifice itself for a pawn," her assuredness, her certainty only seemed to bewilder the exiled prince.

"Are… are you mental? This is not a chessboard, this is your _life_," he said in disbelief.

"Aye. And the simple fact is that my life is disposable. Yours is not," Robin's face turned to the sand at his feet, a dark shadow crossing over his face.

"There are things you do not know, Marth. Else, you would not say such," he said, a cynical smirk coming to his face. She narrowed her eyes.

Before she could counter, the sun peeked over the dunes. Dawn had broken, and time was limited. Lucina turned back to eye her charge, a determined look beneath her mask as she walked over to where he sat.

"Robin, there is much I cannot yet tell you, and I am sorry for that. But please, tell me. Can you trust me?" She asked, extending her hand. He gave a long, tired sigh.

"It… would seem I've little choice," he admitted.

His hand clasped with hers, black leather gloves meeting with blue.

* * *

Chrom walked through the halls of Castle Ylisstol, the early morning sun bathing him in gold light as he moved with purpose. He knew better than to question why his retainer had awoken him at such an early hour, fully believing the situation to be serious. Frederick had called him by his given name, rather than his title. That always meant something was dire.

After keeping step with the knight for a time, he eventually realized they were headed for the war chamber, a room that hadn't seen use since the Conquest, nearly two decades prior. The room was a grand one, stained glass windows making up the east facing wall, with a long table making up the center of the room, the table being big enough to seat twelve people.

The Exalt, the prince, and ten bureaucrats.

Chrom made little secret of his distaste for the military High-Command. Many of them only acquired their position through deals with the former Exalt Emmyria, Chrom's father. While a few had some level of competency, most were woefully undeserving of their position. Chrom saw the way they looked at Emmeryn, as well as the way they took advantage of her kind nature.

Still, all of the High-Command were gathered, all of them stone-faced, which further spoke to the seriousness of the current situation. Nobles that weren't bickering, that sat together in silent contemplation, were nobles that feared for their very lives.

Chrom turned to Emmeryn, who sat at the head of the table. She offered him a weary smile, and nodded once, silently asking him to be seated. He did so, aware of Frederick standing at attention behind him. Standing beside Emmeryn at the head of the table was Phila, who was to be expected, but another woman joined them as well.

With her red hair, light armor, and fair complexion, Chrom recognized her as Cordelia. Though young and a new recruit to the Pegasus Knights, many stories circulated regarding her natural ability, as well as the sharpness of her mind. Frankly, Chrom had been keeping an eye on her progress. The Shepherds, at present, numbered only ten members. While not a bad size, it was hardly a platoon. As such, Chrom was always keeping an eye out for potential recruits.

His sister rising to her feet snapped his attention forward.

"I thank you all for coming," she began, her tone uncharacteristically dull. "I am certain many of you have heard, but for those who haven't, I will say it now. We have reason to brace for a Plegian invasion."

Chrom's breath caught in his throat as a few of the council began to murmur amongst themselves.

"They have recalled all of their border guard, and the attacks from Plegian bandits have ceased altogether. While this may come as a pleasant surprise, these are not signs of an end to hostility. They are more characteristic of an army soon to mobilize," Emmeryn said, silencing all of the nobles with her certain tone.

"Perhaps this is all a misunderstanding, but my station prevents me from treating it as such. I will attempt a meeting with the Plegian Crown, to attempt to mend the wounds between our states."

To this, Chrom stood, a rare look of frustration aimed at his sister.

"Emmeryn, you would play into their hands. You speak of the same king who would send bandits into our nations, ravaging the villages of innocent civilians. Validar wants a war, and I figure killing you would be as much casus belli as it would be a tragedy. He wishes for blood to be spilled between our states, and you would only offer him your own."

Around him, a few of the council members muttered amongst themselves, some clearly offended by the prince's breach of protocol, while others agreed with his words. Emmeryn gave him a small smile, seeming more bemused than offended.

"I understand your concern, Chrom. Perhaps it is for the best that I do not meet with him. Regardless, should it come to war, we would certainly require assistance. Chrom, take the Shepherds to Regna Ferox to speak with their Khan. Let us hope that our old ally will come to our aide once more."

Chrom nodded, though he sighed inwardly. He was hardly a great diplomat, but Emmeryn seemed fully intent on making him one. Her soft smirk told him that much. He would most certainly do it, but that did not mean he would not complain to her about the matter at a later date.

"I will ready my men," Chrom said, standing ro rise. One of the old generals on the council, an ancient looking man named Lyseth, raised a hand to stop him.

"On the matter of the Shepherds," the old man began, each word incredibly spaced out from each other, "we have noticed that you have yet to name a tactician."

Chrom looked over the council, noting that they all looked hopeful. He had to repress a sigh of disdain.

"We've yet to find a tactician, yes. We still search."

Lyseth's decrepit eyes caught a bit of light.

"Then might I suggest som-"

"No."

Chrom felt the eyes of all of the councilors widen as they held a gaze on him. Being truthful, he held a certain distaste for most tacticians. All of the ones Chrom had dealt with and met had been arrogant, cowardly, and narcissistic, all convinced that the sheer genius of their own mind made them too valuable to fight on the battle. None of them had a problem with sending a soldier to face death, but they were all terrified to do the same.

That was the reason that the Shepherds were the only military outfit in all Ylisse without a dedicated tactician. Frederick knew a fair amount on the subject, and Chrom hoped Virion would prove capable until they found a permanent strategist for their group, so they got by for the moment.

But this did not stop the High-Command from attempting to instill their lackeys, children, or cousins into the position. Anything to curry favor with the royal family. Chrom had his pick of tacticians, in truth. He could have any one of them he had wanted. But that did little to change the fact that he regarded every tactician he had known as cravens.

"I will choose a tactician when I find one who I feel is worthy of such a position. Worthy of holding not just my life, but the lives of all of my comrades in their hands. I've yet to find such a man, and thus; we still search."

The prince's words carried more an edge to them now than they ever had before, as his gaze wandered over the room. None met his stare. He scoffed at them, before walking toward the door, his retainer close at hand.

"Milord," Frederick began as they walked down the castle hall. Chrom repressed a sigh; he knew what was coming. "While I agree with your decision on the matter of finding a tactician, perhaps it would be prudent to voice your thoughts more… softly?"

The prince gave a smirk as he walked with purpose. "If I were more gentle, they would only take advantage of it, would they not?"

Frederick fell silent after that, knowing the answer all too well.

* * *

Lucina buckled a bit, before finding the strength to continue on. Robin limped beside her, arm over her shoulder as she half helped, half carried the injured prince across the desert. The sun beat down overhead, and the sand often caused her to lose her footing, but she was able to continue on at a good pace, something she knew Robin had taken note of.

They walked across the desert sands for the entire morning, finally stopping at another oasis surrounded by the sands. This one was smaller than the one before, and it did not have dunes shielding it from view. Still, it was clear that Robin was tired. Every step seemed to pain him more than the last.

She positioned him so that he could sit by the water's edge, before she herself sat behind him, intent to watch their flanks. She drew Falchion, and held it in her lap, the weight a comfort to the Foreseer. After a moment, she became aware of eyes watching her.

Lucina turned back to find the prince's gaze on her, discerning.

"Yes?" She asked, after a silent moment. "Is everything alright?"

She saw his gaze slide down her body, lingering on her thin arms and legs and bony frame that her outfit only barely hid. She knew what questions were coming.

"...Tell me, after the events at the castle gate, how did you get me to that first oasis?" He asked. "I know the area. That had to have been at least twenty miles, and we got there by nightfall, whilst avoiding Plegian patrols."

"...I carried you, and ran," she said simply. He sized her up once more.

"I hope that you do not take offense to my words, Marth, but you do not seem to be in the best of health. It's rather clear that you're malnourished, and have been for sometime. To hear that you carried me so far, so fast, is a bit… difficult to believe."

She gave a noncommittal shrug, hoping he would drop it, but she could see in his eyes that she wouldn't. The exalted blood that ran through her veins allowed her a few advantages, mainly superhuman endurance and speed, as well as an immunity to disease and a longer lifespan. She could assume Robin had read about such boons before, and she feared that he may begin to piece it together.

They sat in silence for a moment, Robin drinking water from the oasis as Lucina stood watch. After a few minutes of silence, Robin spoke up.

"So… you're Prince Chrom's time-traveling daughter?" He said, simply.

She wheeled about to face him, sputtering incoherently for a moment, unable to form any concrete line of rebuttal.

"W-w… What?!" She finally managed. She was simply answered with a smirk.

"You carry his sword in your lap right now. A sword, might I add, that only someone of exalted blood can use. And I saw you cut through three people with it with little issue. I've studied Falchion enough to recognize it when I see it. Being of the exalted bloodline would also explain why you were able to carry me so far, so fast, despite being so obviously malnourished," his smirk continued, as he fixed his gaze on the water's surface.

"I admit that I was confused for a moment. Perhaps you were a bastard daughter of the previous Exalt, and simply stole Falchion? But as I considered it, I realized that this is unlikely. You match the description of the previous Queen more than the Exalt, she was the one with blue hair. Her life was also rather thoroughly documented, a fourth pregnancy would have been well known. Ergo, you are someone of exalted blood, but not the child of the previous Exalt or Queen. Neither of them have any siblings that are known of, so that only leaves a few possibilities," he turned his eyes back to her.

"A child of someone related to the previous Exalt and Queen, but not their children, nor children of any siblings of theirs. That was a brick wall for me, until I considered your words. When you first approached me, you asked for the history of the past two decades, saying something 'went wrong', insinuating you know how time _should _have played out, but finding that this is not what happened. The fact that you call yourself a 'foreseer' only furthers the hypothesis. I propose you come from a future where things took a turn for the worse. Hell, Ylisse and Plegia are on the brink of war as we speak, perhaps it ended in your nations destruction. Life of a prisoner, or that of a refugee, could well explain why you are so malnourished."

Lucina could only stare at him, at a loss. In the combined total time of a few hours, injured and exhausted, the man before her had been able to tear apart any semblance of a facade she had, with apparent ease. As she looked into his eyes, she realized that she had badly underestimated him. He was not simply an intellectual man, nor just any tactician. This was the man who had defeated Walhart's legions with an army outnumbered twenty to one, fighting in unfamiliar territory. It was the man who was able to utterly destroy Plegia in her own time.

She realized, only then, that to refer to this man as "intelligent" was to diservice him.

She realized, only then, that this man was perhaps the most gifted mind the world had yet seen.

"Does… d-does this not seem… far-fetched?" She asked, half-heartedly. She made a decent actress, but she was a terrible liar when confronted directly.

Robin's smirk took on a somber look, his words soft.

"Believe me, when you seen what I have… nothing seems impossible. I don't claim to know how you accomplished the feat, what sort of magic may have been used, but I am certain that there are stranger and more outlandish things in the world than time travel. Maybe not _much _more outlandish, but there must be something."

Lucina simply nodded, taking in a long breath.

"There is… truth to your words," she admitted. "I come from a blighted future, one in which humanity itself began to crumble. I was given a chance to come back, to save this world from a meeting a similar fate. Yet, as I return to the past, I find that things went wrong."

Robin shifted, turning his body to face the Exalt.

"I see… what's so different about this time than yours?" He asked, curiosity piqued. She glanced at him, measuring her words carefully.

"Validar did not take the throne until much later. Gangrel held the throne, and his ascension to it was uncontested. He was… a puppet on your father's strings, but he was still the one that went to war with Ylisse in my time."

She gave him a look before continuing.

"Similarly, you left Validar, as well as Plegia, at a young age. You never spoke about it, at least, not openly. That said, I did not know you well, in my time." The prince raised an eyebrow at her.

"But you did know me?" He asked. She gave a slight nod.

"You were… a quiet man, furtive in your ways and mannerisms. You were not unkind, however. You would often buy me trinkets, when I was younger."

"Huh… So, I was an ally of Ylisse?" He asked.

"Aye. One of her staunchest. You lead Ylisse through the bloodiest wars of history, and found victory. You were known across the world, just as my father was," she said. Robin simply nodded.

"I see," he said, a sad smile coming to his face as he regarded her malnourished state once more. "And then I failed."

Lucina winced beneath her mask.

"I… I do not wish to reveal any specifics, but many… many would say you had. That the calamity that befell us was your responsibility and yours alone. I believed as such, for a long time," she said.

"And your opinion changed?" The prince asked.

"I… I have been given cause to believe that what happened wasn't something to lay on your shoulders. You… you were as much a victim as anyone else."

He gave another nod. He did not press for information, knowing that she was unlikely to reveal much else. Rather, he sat in silence, contemplating.

It was clear that Marth intended for him to fulfill his role as he had in her time, as an ally of Ylisse. In truth, Robin did not deny that he had no love for Plegia, but he was uncertain of how receptive the Ylisseans would be, having the prince of their historic rival as an ally. While Chrom seemed a good man, and stories circulated of Exalt Emmeryn's kind heart, they hardly accounted for the masses. He did not believe his father's propaganda, but he was keenly aware that many Ylisseans would be less than receptive to his presence.

Still, he had no other recourse. He doubted Marth would let him walk away from his "destiny" even if he wanted to. It was either fight and potentially die for Ylisse, or live his life running.

"There is one thing I must… warn you of," Marth's voice cut through the air. Robin turned his head to face her once more.

"I made the journey with others. They come from the same dark times as I. There are twelve others in total, amongst them my brother and my cousin. Nearly all who made the journey are good, decent people, but…" she trailed off for a moment.

"Many of them would lay the fate of the world at your feet, and hold you accountable for it. Most of them would not attack you outright, but you will need to be vigilant around a woman named Kjelle. She is a proud warrior, and she would most certainly relish the chance to test her mettle against your own. As long as I'm able to talk to her, though, she should stand down," her face darkened a moment before continuing.

"Gerome is the one I worry about the most. He… he was perhaps the most virulent of our group, the most set in his belief."

"And his belief was?" Robin asked, raising a brow.

"...That your death was necessary for a better world. I do not think anyone could talk him out of it, in honesty. If… if he sees a chance to kill you, he will almost certainly take it."

Robin nodded, grimly. She seemed pain as she talked, as though describing a former friend that had fallen from grace.

"Furthermore," she continued, "should anything happen to me, you must find a man named Owain. He is my cousin, and should I fall, it will be he who becomes the leader of our group. While he may seem a tad… colorfult, he is a good man who would help you however he could."

Robin sat quietly for a moment, his words quiet and measured when he finally spoke.

"Tell me, am I truly worth the trouble? Worth you risking your life for me, your cousin risking his?" He asked.

"...I have told you. My life is disposable, yours is not."

She spoke with a cold tone, one that did not offer any chance at talking on the matter. Lucina knew the truth of things; Robin was the only one who could lead Ylisse and her allies through the tribulations to come. If he could refute his fate, fight back against his father, then Robin could well be the only man with the genius capable of defeating Grima.

She would give her life a hundred times over, if it meant protecting her father, if it meant the defeat of Grima. Robin could be the one to do both.

As such, she knew that she may well have to give up her life for his.

She would do it without a second thought.

* * *

Two men faced each other, circling one another in the massive coliseum. One man, a scion, the other, a champion. Their blades were drawn, pointed at one another as they circled, both waiting for the other to make the first move, the scion, out of caution, the champion, out of preference.

It was the scion who moved first, holding his father's blade. He moved forward, his blade a flash of light as it descended upon the champion, who's own blade only just managed to raise in time to deflect the other man's downward slash. The scion continued his attack, pressing in on the champion, slashing faster and faster with his blade. The champion, despite his very apparent skill with a blade, only barely managed to keep up.

The assault lasted for two minutes, the scion's blade moving too fast to allow the champion to make any kind of counter-attack. While the champion was able to ward off every attack, it became immediately apparent that this was to be a battle of endurance; something the scion seemed to have much more of.

The man's attacks were unrelenting, but his opponent's defense began to slow. His blocks became sloppier, each pushing him back more than the last. Then the first attack got through his guard. Then a second. Then a third. Fortunately, not one of them were killing blows (a stab to his shoulder and slashes to his ribs), but it further impeded the champion's ability to defend himself from the other man's onslaught.

Then, it happened. The scion leapt back, giving the champion but a moment of reprieve, before the scion started running forward again. The champion internally sighed, knowing he could not maintain this much longer, before raising his sword in a defensive stance once more.

The scion leapt through the air, flying toward the champion with incredible speed, as the champion raised his sword to block.

The champion's eyes widened as his opponent's blade began to glow a bright blue.

The scion gave a dangerous smile as he charged forward, blade slashing out as he leapt past his opponent almost too fast for the eye to see.

"_Luna_", he said, his voice quiet and soft.

Behind him, he heard the sound of the champion's blade clattering to the ground, severed in two, followed by his chestplate. After another moment, the champion collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The crowd roared and thundered, the Khan laughing heartily at the show that had been before him.

Owain smiled. He had done it.

He had won.

Everything was going according to plan.


	4. How Men Fall

**How Men Fall**

* * *

_Two move through the desert,_

_One wearing a mask of steel,_

_The other, a mask of emotion._

_Each aware of the other's pain,_

_One, victim of a dead world,_

_The other, time in motion._

* * *

Lucina slowed her pace somewhat, gritting her teeth as she did so. Robin took in a shaky breath as they walked, the moon bathing the desert sand in a slight blue light. It was clear, to the Exalt, that Robin was still in bad shape. They could only walk for around an hour or so before the exiled prince would need to be supported. The desert air was cold, but he was sweating from the effort. He was very obviously trying to muster whatever strength he could, but she knew that he needed rest. They'd been moving for about two and a half hours, she'd wager, and they moved slower and slower as time continued.

"Sir Robin," she said, "we should rest soon."

The prince quirked a brow at her use of his title from her time, but nodded to her nevertheless. She helped him sit down in the sand, hearing him heave. Lucina sat down with labored breaths of her own. In truth, neither of them were operating at their fullest capacity. They'd been moving for some forty-eight hours, with no food. They were able to drink and stock up on water at the various oases, thanks to Robin's near encyclopedic knowledge of the desert. The only food that they had eaten was some jerky Robin had on him, Lucina insisting he eat the majority of it.

"We are going to need food," she began. "Where would be the best place to get provisions quickly?"

Robin pondered the matter for a moment. "There is a small town called Campari's Rest nearby. It isn't much, but they do have a general store, as well as an inn," he said, his brows scrunching in consideration. "We will have to be careful, though. There will almost certainly be scouts watching the villages closely."

She nodded, content with what she had been told. She watched him with a curious look, a question coming to her mind.

"Tell me, how do you know the desert so well?" She asked. He answered with a shrug.

"I had to memorize the area when I was younger. Makes it easier to strategize a defence, if needed."

"Seems an odd thing for a child to be taught."

"You don't know the half of it," his words were spoken with a rueful grin that did not meet his eyes. None of them ever did.

A silence hung in the air for a moment, Lucina content to sit and rest her aching muscles. They'd been lucky so far, in avoiding patrols. Robin had said that, to most, journeying the desert with no supplies was tantamount to suicide, so the patrols most likely assumed they would take a safer trail to Regna Ferox, where they would presumably appeal to the Khans.

Lucina turned her eyes to Robin, his having bags underneath. He seemed rather pale, and his breaths were short, shallow. It was clear that his condition was worsening, and she feared what would happen if he did not find a proper healer soon.

"Campari's Rest," she began, hoping to keep him talking, "I have not heard the name before. Tell me of the town."

He looked at her for a moment, as though he was gauging his words.

"Castle Plegia, where we just made our desperate escape from, now stands as the capital of the Theocracy. In the Upheaval, as the Ylisseans call our nation's civil war, Castle Plegia was my father's base of operations. It was threatened by Gangrel's forces several times in the war, but never so significantly as it was in the Battle of Campari's Rest," he looked to make sure she followed, continuing at her nod.

"At the time, the town was called Idalita, and it was much larger than it is today. Still, it was just an oasis town in the midst of a desert, never important before. That changed with this battle."

"Gangrel's forces took a daring strategy that damned near worked; marching two of his largest armies through the entirety of the desert to pressure Castle Plegia directly. Due to just how barren the desert is, Gangrel's forces were able to get _very _close before any of Validar's forces realized, leaving them scrambling to raise a defensive force. The man who lead what defenses there were was the general Campari, regarded as one of the sternest, most immovable men in the ranks," Lucina watched, with rapt attention, as he let out a sigh.

"Campari and his forces used Idalita as the buffer area to protect the capital, choosing to hold their battle there before Gangrel could take the town, and have a place to set up a foothold so close to the Castle. A few days after Campari and his men arrived in the town, Gangrel met them in battle. The fighting was fierce, but Campari defended the town and its populace with his life, and unto his dying breath. He and his army fell, fighting the tyrant that would have destroyed the town of Idalita, the tyrant that would go on to ravage the town's population in vengeance. However, he inflicted losses so great that Gangrel was unable to press on to the castle. Due to his defense of the homeland, and of the town, it was renamed to Campari's Rest in his honor."

Lucina looked up at him, seeing his tired, bitter expression, and catching on to the subtext.

"What actually happened?" She asked

"Campari drafted the local population. He sent them onto the battlefield in the front, unarmed and unarmored, using them as meat shields to take arrows intended for the soldiers. He forced them, sent the civilians charging in droves at the enemy lines, as a shock tactic. It was intended to be demoralize the enemy before the heavily armed soldiers charged in behind them. It was brutally effective."

"And the town's people… they… they charged with no hesitation?"

"If someone were to put a blade at your child's throat, and tell you to die, would you do so? The answer to them was rather apparent, it seemed," his words carried a haggard tone, and she could only stare, at a loss.

"They… threatened the children?" She realized how immature she may have sounded, but never before had she heard a tale quite so… cruel. Inhuman.

"They killed most of them as well. In the end, around eighty-five percent of the town's population died. Campari's Rest, as it stands, is simply a ghost of what was. Its named changed and story retold to fit propaganda and a tale of lies," Robin's hair seemed to glow in the light of the moon, but it did little to change the look of disgust that crossed his features.

"That… Validar would truly honor, and reward such actions? Is he even fit to call himself human?!"

To this, Robin chuckled. It was not a sound she had heard from him before, and it was not a pleasant one. It was hollow, empty, mirthless.

"Validar is _very_ human. He is the embodiment of humanity at its very worst, stripped of virtues, and of compassion. He is the unchecked ambition, untempered zealotry that drives man to actions just like those Campari took. He desires only power, and will not stop until his thirst for it is satisfied."

As Lucina watched him, she could not help but think that he seemed… very, very sad, to say the least of it. His eyes fell low, his shoulders sagged, and she saw a chance now to perhaps come to understand him better.

"He… does not sound as though he would be a pleasant father," she said gently. He tilted his head downward.

"Yes, well… life gives you what it will," he said, his voice soft.

"Yes, I… I suppose it does," Lucina replied. "And… And your mother? What of her? And did you have any friends, aside Lady Tharja?"

He didn't look up, didn't meet her eyes, but she realized that she had touched an open wound.

"...My mother died long ago." He spoke with a tone of finality, perhaps even warning. But to Lucina, it was as though he was begging to be spared the memories. "As for friends, I don't really have any. Tharja… Tharja has always been kind, but she mostly feels indebted to me. Lon'qu is more focused on me as his charge than anything else, and Henry… he doesn't make the best conversation, to be frank."

"Forgive me. I do not mean to dredge up pain for you. I… know how you may feel," she said, facing away from him. "My parents were taken from me at a young age… I lost a great deal, but nothing nearly as significant as them. I'm sorry, for that which you have suffered. But know that I may be able to understand."

"You understand nothing."

His words were soft, his tone melancholic. She turned to him, almost angry at such an assertion, but froze at the sight of his face. He looked at her now, his tired eyes unfocused, lost in a nightmare.

"You have lost a great deal, I can tell. Perhaps more than I could ever know," he began. "But you couldn't understand that which I have lost. I would never want you to understand. It's a pain no person should bear, so _please,_ do not try to bear it with me."

Lucina watched him, silent for a moment, trying to think of something, anything to say.

"I… see. Then I will not try to understand…" Taking a moment to gather her courage, she removed her mask, facing him once more, as her hair began to cascade down her shoulders. "I realize I may not ever truly be capable of understanding your suffering, but… I wish to be a support, something you can rely on. For that to be the case, trust is important, yes?"

She took in a deep breath. No backing down now.

"My true name is Lucina, firstborn daughter of the late Exalt Chrom and Queen Sumia. I… would like to call you my friend, should you be so wiling, as I would like to be called yours."

Robin examined her, for a time, processing. Thinking. Watching.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lucina," he said, an expression in his eyes she had not yet seen before. "I could call you friend, if it is to your liking."

She smiled at him, a small, reserved one, but no less genuine. "Very well…"

"...Friends it is, then, Robin."

* * *

_**There are a great many things I would like to say. First, the reason this took so long. **_

_**Basically, cancer.**_

_**Yeahhh in October of last year, ya boy got diagnosed with Stage 2 Hodgkin's Lymphoma, which kinda sucks. I don't mean for being sick to be my excuse, but it did add. It isn't the most fun way to confront your own morality.**_

_**For those concerned, I'm sorry, I don't mean to worry anyone. But, things are going well! I've finished my last rounds of chemo, and now I'm just waiting on scans. Should be right back at it in no time.**_

_**Honestly, though, this beginning portion has just been… hard for me? I'll probably post chapters that are both longer and more frequent once we get past this introductory arc, and into that good stuff. I have no intention of abandoning either this, nor Fellblood. I've just reached a point of dragging my feet with both stories. And I would like to apologize for that. I hope to do better in the future.**_


	5. The Blades of the Palemoon

**The Blades of the Palemoon**

* * *

_He knew a truth,_

_A truth that should not be spoken._

_A Fellblood is cursed,_

_The vessel must be broken._

* * *

It had been… months.

Lucina had to credit her companion, he had a resilience that few others possessed.

Robin's condition had been worsening gradually, the relief Tharja's spell had given him waning more and more over time. They'd sustained themselves by going into the desert towns disguised to buy food, Robin having a substantial deal of gold coins on him. He'd melancholically referred to it as 'the only benefit of being a former prince'. They'd survived, thus far.

But the past two days, the tactician was clearly far past his limit. He'd started coughing up blood, stumbling in the desert sand. He was spiraling. It was… concerning. Truthfully, she was not convinced he would survive.

Typically, a trek across the desert would take quite some time, in a two man party. Several weeks, at the very least. It took them the time it would take a marching army, Robin's injuries making progress slower and slower.

Few words were spoken, but few were necessary. She… understood him, in a way she could not quite explain. Despite their lack of words, she had come to think of him as a true friend.

That made her all the more terrified on that day, when her friend finally collapsed in the sand.

"Robin!" She yelled, running to his side. "Robin, please, we're so close! The Ylissean fort on the border, you said it was nearby, yes?"

"I… did," he answered, weakly. "It would take you perhaps… perhaps a few hours… you should go, Lucina. I fear that… I'm beyond saving, at this point."

Lucina clenched her fist. The fact of the matter, ultimately, is that Robin is irreplaceable. Perhaps her father had the heart and strength to save the world, but Robin had the mind. They needed their tactician.

"Come now, my friend. This is no place to die. There is much you have yet to do," not listening to any rejections, she bent over, picking her charge up and carrying him on her back. He moaned, told her to go on alone, but she would not hear it. The weakness in his voice struck her more than his words ever could.

After a time, he fell quiet, leaving Lucina to trudge through the sands silently. The area they were coming up on, she hoped that she could find a competent pegasus knight, one that could get them straight to Ylisstol as soon as possible. Robin's life depended on it.

He was known as the Prince of Plegia. That alone put him at risk, as those in power were likely to make hostile moves against him, even if he carried the Exalt's favor. Lucina knew well how dangerous the Council could be.

"Lucina?" Robin asked suddenly, voice fading, growing softer. "If… If I… reach Chrom, become… become the tactician of his honor guard… what will you do?"

She was silent for a moment, trying to think of the best way to confront the question. She felt him rest his head on her shoulder as she carried him, her Exalted blood and his declining health making his weight insubstantial to her.

"I… suppose I'll leave once more. There's a great deal to be done, after all," she said, the lie she forced herself to believe. In truth, she feared what would happen if she were around her father for too long. The longer she was around him, the closer he'd get to discovering her identity.

"Don't…" Robin said. "Please… don't leave… me…"

She turned her head to face him, finding that his eyes were closed as he leaned on her. She feared that he'd lost consciousness. She wasn't certain he'd ever regain it.

She sucked in a breath, not yet willing to give up on her companion.

"You've been alone for quite some time now, haven't you?" She asked, though she knew he could no longer hear her. "Very well, my friend. I will do all I can to support you."

Though he said nothing, though he did not open his eyes, she could swear that she saw the faintest hint of a smile. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but she hoped he'd heard her.

Setting her gaze forward, she moved forward, looking inward. Their wordless relationship thus far had not been one that she'd minded thus far, but it left her wanting to know more. She felt that she did have a true understanding of her companion, yet there was much she was unaware of. His past, what he wanted for the future…

Was she forcing him to fulfill a title he had no interest in? He hadn't objected to the idea of being a tactician, even knowing what it would ultimately entail. War with his home, while _recognizing_ it as his home… while knowing men and women on the other side. Was she being cruel?

She shook her head, thrusting the thoughts from her mind. He seemed to trust her intent, if nothing else, and she had to trust it as well. There were other, more important things that needed her attention.

Should she stay with the Shepherds? Wouldn't that be… dangerously selfish? Her father recognizing who she was, knowing the truth to her identity, it… it would throw everything off.

_But then, _a dangerous, tempting part of her mind pondered, _isn't everything out of sorts already? _

Her instinct was to dismiss the thought, but she found it made sense. With time already seemingly in disarray, would her presence amongst the Shepherds harm things even more? Or could it be beneficial?

On her back, Robin stirred, though he did not wake. She felt his breath, weak but present, and she found a new determination, something that made the decision for her. A realization, one that bid her stay amongst the Shepherds.

As the Prince of Plegia, his life would be under threat. In her own time, the Council had already hated Robin. The idea that a 'nobody' was made tactician of the prince's unofficial honor guard had deeply offended the aristocrats. They'd only barely put up with him, and none of them had known he was Plegian. This time, they would have ample ammunition to use against him, and would undoubtedly use it to justify his… death.

She would not allow it. Any assassin who would get to him would have to get through her, first. Lucina carried her charge, a renewed determination filling her.

Yes, she would keep him safe. Perhaps, in time, she would make him happy, too.

So she trudged forward, the desert's moon watching over her trek, her companion matching the shade of the moonlight.

* * *

"Tell me, where was he last seen?" The assassin asked. His accent was thick, though Validar failed to place it. Somewhere in Valm, certainly.

"The grounds of Castle Plegia. He was gravely injured, you may be searching for a corpse, unless his ally is carrying his body," Validar said, rubbing his chin. The morning sun had only just begun to rise, the light in the throne room dim.

"Where have you searched?" The assassin asked, his hood casting a shadow over his face.

"Mostly up and down the Western Trail, close to the coast. It's where the bulk of our population is, as well as the majority of cheap, affordable food. If he wants to blend in, and have easy access to food, he'll stay along the coast. His ally remains… enigmatic. We don't know how well he knows the area, but Robin is familiar. If he gave any direction, it would be to follow the Western Trail to Ferox, and seek asylum there," Validar responded, creasing his brow after a moment. "Though, we have also sent sentries into the desert, but they have yet to return."

"You think he chose the desert instead?"

"I think he is no longer drawing breath, however… if he is, I acknowledge that there is a chance he did just that," Validar said. "He knows the land, perhaps better than any who were pursuing him. It would certainly be the harder trek, but he would know where to go for food… we've put out posters of his and his ally's faces, but we do not know what his ally truly looks like. His face was covered."

"Hood?"

"Mask."

The assassin nodded, "You think, if he took the desert route, he is headed for Ylisse?"

"Yes," Validar affirmed, "Though, it would be foolish of him. Perhaps the weak-hearted exalt would take him, but that would only result in him being dispatched by the assassins of the irate council."

"I see."

"But, even in that case, proof of his death would still be acceptable," Validar said. "Even if it means infiltrating Ylisse."

"Am I to do this alone?" To this, Validar smirked.

"No, no. Tell me, are the tales of your skill exaggerated?"

"No." He had no need to embellish. Validar could respect that.

"There's a sect of the Plegian Royal Guard, they serve as assassins. Their skill is nearly unparalleled. I want you to face one in a duel to the death. Should you win, you will take three of them to complete your mission."

"They would not resent me for killing a comrade?"

Validar laughed. "I trust you, they are numb to losing comrades by now. It is a policy of the order."

"And what is this order of assassins called?"

The King smirked, smug. Robin would die, whether from blood loss, infection, starvation, or a blade in the night.

"The Blades of the Palemoon. They will serve you well, I assure you."

* * *

"So, I take it Regna Ferox went well?" The Exalt asking, smiling at her brother. "Three months is good time, for an outfit the size of the Shepherds."

The Exalt's bedchamber was cool in the late night's air, Emmeryn herself only awaking to greet her brother as he returned, sitting next to him on one of the couches that was in her room. Chrom returned her smile, though the bags under his eyes certainly made it less serene.

"We moved fast, sister. I don't like leaving you here," he admitted. "We had to participate in the Khan's tournament, with myself representing East-Khan Flavia."

"And I suppose you won?" She asked.

"Yes, well.." he began, thinking back.

* * *

_Blade clashed against blade, each champion giving their very best, and it seemed their skill was equal. Chrom may have possessed the edge in strength, but this champion's speed, reflexes, and experience seemed to make up for the deficit._

_As they locked blades, Chrom smiled. His opponent seemed a few years younger than he, around the age of sixteen. He took the chance to get to know his rival in between blows._

"_May I ask?," Chrom said, ducking under a sword swing. "You fight with great skill, and it would be an honor to know your name."_

"_M-m-m-m-m-my n-n-n-na-... name?" For whatever reason, the boy seemed to be thrown off kilter, no longer focused. Chrom was not above taking advantage of such an opening._

_He charged his opponent, bringing his elbow down on the boy's throat, before sweeping his legs out from under him with a kick. As his opponent lay on the ground, Chrom dipped the point of Falchion to his throat._

"_I… win?" He said, realizing the room had been silent, when just a moment prior it had been filled with roars and applause. The crowd remained quiet for a few seconds that felt like years._

"_WHAT WAS THAT SHIT?!" Chrom flinched from Basilio's bellow._

"_Oh, come now, you old oaf. It's your fault for enlisting a champion so young," Flavia said, smirking. Despite being on opposite sides of the arena, each perched on their thrones, their voices carried remarkably well. It occurred to Chrom that he had to apologise to Vaike and Sully. He thought _they _were loud._

"_Alright, fine!" Basilio said. "The winner is Chrom, of Ylisse, and Flavia now stands as the Khan-Regent." His voice became a grumble by the end. Chrom turned to regard the boy, offering a hand._

"_Come, seek me out, once you have the chance," Chrom said, smiling. "I'd like to have a word with you."_

* * *

"My, he truly impressed you enough to be offered a place amongst your outfit?" Emmeryn said, eyes slightly widened.

"In truth, though his skill is very noteworthy, I took him on more because of a gut instinct. I sense a… familiarity, in the boy," Chrom answered.

"Many of milord's decisions are predicated upon 'gut instinct'," Frederick said, the knight standing guard in the corner of the room. "I had hoped you would talk sense into him."

"Oh, come now, Knight Frederick," Emmeryn responded, chuckling goodnaturedly. "Perhaps he is a bit… headstrong, but one cannot deny that his instincts are usually correct."

"Perhaps, until the day they are not."

"And that," Chrom grumbled, "is why I have a two hundred pound behemoth clad shoulder to toe in steel following me at all times."

"You jest, milord, but it is the truth," Frederick said, stone-faced as always. Chrom sighed, defeated.

"Pity for you, dear brother," Emmeryn said with a laugh. "Tell me, what is this newcomer of yours named?"

"Ovain. He's called Ovain."

* * *

Owain sneezed. Perhaps someone was speaking about him, somewhere.

He rolled over in his cot, the moonlight seeping in through one of the windows in the room. He enjoyed seeing the Shepherds' Barracks, restored to what it was meant to be. He didn't even mind that he lacked a room, having to bunk with Vaike and Stahl.

Thus far, he'd maintained a strong facade, making absolutely sure no one knew who he was. He even conjured a fake name, and that was one the spot! Lucina would be proud of him, he felt confident he was doing exactly what she would do, were she in his position.

Lucina…

He wondered how his dear cousins were doing. Truthfully, he worried for them both. Owain may play the part at times, but he was no idiot. Something went wrong. The past was different.

Unfortunately, he couldn't get a great deal of details about what major events were different specifically, too worried about maintaining appearances to ask. He simply had to trust his cousins would adjust. If nothing more, all of the Shepherds he'd met thus far had been the same as they once were. So… painfully similar.

Save for one. Owain did not know where his father was, the swordsman not being in Regna Ferox at the time he had been in the original timeline. He also couldn't help but wonder where Robin was, the tactician nowhere to be found.

He knew what the others thought, what his comrades thought. Robin was the man who doomed the world. Their degree of belief varied wildly, Owain admittedly being one of the more skeptic members of their group. He understood there was a great deal of evidence, but…

To him, _Robin _was the man who would sit with him and Severa as children, reading stories to them, recounting his tales and exploits. Those stories are what engrossed him to the idea of being a hero, like one from a great story.

Both he and Severa had been devastated by the news of the fall of Chrom and his Vanguard, and to watch the rest of the Shepherds fall, one by one… it had been Hell.

Adding to this was the news that the cause of the decline, the cause of the End Times, all centered on one man's betrayal. Robin's betrayal.

Owain could never reconcile his two conflicting views of the man. Was he a monster, or was there an explanation of _any _kind? For the sake of his youth, he had to believe the latter. Were it so easy for the others…

Severa felt betrayed by a man she looked up to as a father figure of sorts. Many in their group felt that way. Gerome, on the other hand… he had a much more… pointed reason, to hate the tactician.

It had been a dark day for the boy.

Owain sighed, realizing all he could truly do was hold out hope. His cousins were alright, his friends were okay, and Robin…

Whatever dark path Robin may have been forced down, whatever evil he had been forced to commit, Owain would do everything he could to help him, to bring light into his former hero's eyes.

For now, Owain would serve alongside the legends of his youth. It was good to see them well, especially his mother, though he had to be careful around her.

His brand was more easily covered than Lucina's or Inigo's, but it did little to change that he couldn't be seen shirtless. His brand being on his arm meant that high gloves were helpful.

Perhaps someday he could walk with his mother, side by side, each aware of what the other was.

Perhaps one day, she would see his brand, and remind him that he is loved.

* * *

The assassin's opponent hit the floor. He let out a long, tired sigh. Validar hadn't been joking, the Blades of the Palemoon were truly, truly skilled. He had nearly died several times to his opponent, despite being made clear that the Blade he had faced was considered the weakest in the order. He had only won due to the ace up his sleeve.

"Ah, very intriguing," Validar said, clapping slowly. The dark, cramped arena was filled with spectators. Other Blades, the assassin presumed. "I recognize the technique you used, it is one unique to Valm, but outlawed by most of the continent, is it not? A forbidden art, they deemed it. Far too dangerous to be used."

The assassin scoffed. The king had a point.

"Nevermind that, assassin. You accomplished your task, now three of the Blades will be assigned to you," Validar continued. The assassin approached him, needing to know the answer to a few of his wonderings.

"Tell me," he began, voice low, "why is it that we hunt the former prince of your nation? What is your reason?"

Validar's face darkened.

"In my… youth, I was what you may call a zealot. While most of the Plegian populace are Grimleal in faith, I was an extremist. I had every intention of resurrecting the Fell Dragon itself," the assassin's eyes widened, but the king continued. "Prince Robin is the result of such ambition. He is, in every way, the perfect vessel for the Fell God. He was meant to be the Heart of Grima. He is the _Fellblood_."

"As the years continued, my heart would change, mostly after the loss of his mother. Despite this, he was determined to bond with the beast. Robin felt that it was his birthright, his inheritance. He fled the kingdom after we found him attempting a spell that would merge him with Grima. He may die, he may already have, but it is for the best. Better him than all the world," Validar said, not missing the assassin's tense body language.

"I suspect he would take refuge in Ylisse, hiding his true ambitions from them. He may be after the Fire Emblem itself, in the hopes it can be used for a twisted version of the Awakening. He's a silver-tongued liar. He knows how to manipulate, and he would do anything, _say _anything to further his goals."

"...Then this goes beyond a payment," the assassin responded. "This is the fate of the world. I demand no compensation. Just let me stop him, provide me the resources I'll need."

"They're yours, my friend. Whatever supplies Plegia may have to offer."

The assassin was quiet for a moment. "How dangerous is Robin? How wary must I be of him?" Validar scratched his chin, lost in thought."

"He is… a skilled mage. He's yet to become a master of spellcraft, but he knows enough to be dangerous. He can be quite cunning, the same way a rat running from a dog can be. I… have not seen it for myself, but he's practiced with a blade." Validar said. "Ultimately, he will be weaker than the Palemoon's Blade you've faced."

The assassin nodded. "Very well. When you assign my men, tell them we leave at dawn.

* * *

Chrom groaned. He hated early mornings, he hated debriefings, and he _hated _the High-Command.

"You mean to tell us that some Feroxi brat is more worthy of joining your little Honor Guard than one of our esteemed soldiers?!" Lyseth yelled, trying to be as threatening as the old man could be.

"I took him into our company because, at his heart, I believed him to be a good, kind, and capable soldier. This has nothing to do with the spot of tactician you are all so desperate to see filled," Chrom spat. "I will be the one to determine who it is. Not any of you."

Before Lyseth could retort, Emmeryn's firm voice interrupted.

"My brother did what he has done, and we are to trust his judgement. There are more important threats looming on the horizon than the employ of one swordsman," the council fell silent. The benefit of the Exalt being so kind and caring; it made it that much more jarring, that much more sobering when she wasn't.

"We have spotted wyvern squadrons close to the fort we maintain that marks our border. They never left their territory, nor their airspace, but they are almost certainly scouting," Emmeryn continued.

"Then we must make sure the fort is ready for an attack, from land or sky," Chrom added.

"It's already covered," The Wing-Commander Phila answered. "The fort's current commander is capable enough to at least halt any advance from the ground, and Cordelia left a few weeks ago to lead the aerial units in the area."

"Good," Chrom said. "The Shepherds can go there as well, to provide additional security."

"That won't be necessary," Emmeryn said. "Your warband has only just returned, take the time to rest while you can. If for no other reason, please consider that, were the worst to happen, you would serve as Ylisstol's first and last line of defense. We need you here, until the situation has stabilized, or deteriorated to the point that your presence is necessitated."

Chrom had another thing he hated; Doing nothing.

Still, he nodded. His sister was right, he needed to be close. Needed to protect her.

He had no intention of becoming an Exalt. Now, or ever.

* * *

The Blades were a quiet bunch, the assassin would soon discover. They trudged through the sands, following his hunch that the disowned prince would make his way through the desert. It wouldn't be easy to find him, or catch up to a man with a head-start of several months.

Despite the heat, the Blades of the Palemoon wore their order's full attire, personalized masks that were shrouded by a cowl, with thick leather armor, light and flexible enough to not hinder movement, but dense enough to provide protection. All of their attire was black, including their blades, and not a bit of skin showed from head to toe.

Their weapons were also peculiar, fighting with a long katana in the right hand, and a short, hooked blade in the left, more a long dagger. He'd also been made aware that they carried far more weapons than those which were visible.

One of the Blades noticed the assassin's gaze, focused on their weapons, and walked closer to him.

"The dagger serves a great deal of functions, it's meant to be much more than a weapon," the Blade said, his voice muffled. His mask resembled the visage of a tiger, though it had been shaded gray. The assassin nodded.

"I find it surprising you would speak to me so casually. You seem to resent me less than your comrades," the assassin noted. The Blade chuckled lightly.

"The other two don't resent you for killing Ikam. The Order believes words and language have grown wasteful. At least, that's what the official stance is," he said, his voice lowering. "In truth, I think they just converse as little as possible to spare themselves the pain."

"The pain?"

"Pain caused by losing comrades, such as Ikam. You killed a man we slept beside, yet none of us resent you. Because, to us, he was never a _man, _he was a sword, deigned for a purpose that he failed to accomplish. In truth, I suspect most in the Order are simply desensitized to losing allies, at this point," unlike the other two, this Blade spoke freely and without reservation.

"For an Order so prestigious, why are you so accustomed to losing members?" The assassin asked. The Blade turned, staring at him for a moment.

"The king did not tell you a great deal about the Order, did he?" The Blade ventured, continuing at the assassin's shrug. "Every Blade of the Palemoon is meant to be the absolute elite, unmatched in mind or skill."

"But for an Order with members of such grand ability, I suppose it makes sense to wonder why our mortality rate is so high. In truth, the Blades are only deployed for missions of extreme importance, and extreme secrecy."

The Blade looked down at the sands the trudged through for a moment. "The reason we have been able to remain a secret for so long, the reason that the missions we undertake are so easy to keep off the books is thanks to our defining tenant."

"Upon completing a mission, the Blade will take his katana, and stab it through his heart."

The assassin stared at the talkative Blade, in shock by the barbarity this order seemed to employ.

"I understand that, to an outsider, it sounds preposterous. I've been that outsider… perhaps I still am. The Blades are rarely used, but when they are, it means a comrade will die. Much easier to deal with when you didn't know the name of who died."

The assassin couldn't help but be dumbfounded, before a realization struck him. "But… Ikam, you knew his name. You mean to say the others don't?"

The Blade cast his gaze over to the assassin, the sand blowing against his cowl from the win. "I am what you would call… uncommitted. I know most of the Blades by name, if at least so that they have someone who remembers them."

"You're uncommitted to the Order?"

"The faith of the Order, specifically. The reason they're so willing to die is because they believe in the next life they will find peace."

"Why will they not try to find it in this life?"

The Blade grunted, nodding toward one of the other two Blades in their company. "That one, the taller one… his name is Jezeriah. He was found half-dead in a sewer at age seven, burns and scars littering his body. He has never talked about what happened, how he wound up there, but the Blades were the ones who found him. They offered him a chance at peace, they'd say, even if it isn't in this lifetime."

"The second one, Hakim, was a slave for most of his young life, before a Blade cut down his owner. By that point, he felt he had no hope, no chance at peace, so he joined the Order. Perhaps as a Blade, he could find it in his next life."

"It sounds like a cult, to me," the assassin whispered, so that only the Blade beside him would hear.

"Maybe so, but they're all devoted."

"And you?"

The Blade chuckled again. "I'm the only amongst their number that didn't have a choice. I was forced to join, to become a Blade."

The assassin was quiet, for a moment.

"Then, this mission will end with your death?"

"Yes, no matter the outcome."

"What is your name, Blade?"

There was a quiet moment, a long, quiet moment.

"Gaius… My name is Gaius."

An even longer stretch of silence followed.

"Then know well, I, Priam, will mourn for you, Gaius."

* * *

Lucina staggered up the hill. For all of her Exalted strength, it was nearing its limit. Still, she had to carry on. For the sake of the person on her shoulders.

Robin had broken into a feverish sweat, wheezing and breathing shallow breaths. The end approached him, quickly. She quickened her pace, the fort looming over her head. She had to move faster, had to get him… to get him…

Was her mission hopeless? She could not trust any medic at the fort with his health, that much she knew. In truth, the only cleric she knew she could trust with him was her Aunt Lissa, who was several hundred miles away in Ylisstol. How would she get him there in time? How would she even get past this fort?

As if a divine showing, as if a light beaming down from the heavens, a pegasus came down in front of them, landing heavily, kicking up desert stand. The rider pointed her lance at Lucina and her charge, the hill making her seem larger than life.

"Identify yourselves," she said, grip on her lance tightening.

"Lady Cordelia!" Lucina called out, disguising her voice as best she could, the steel mask on her face starting to burn. The pegasus knight's eyes widened at being recognized, and Lucina took advantage of her thrown-off state. "We require immediate extraction directly to Ylisstol, my comrade needs a cleric, and the only who can heal him is Princess Lissa! The fate of the Halidom depends on his living or dying!" She took another step forward, halted by the lance pointing square at her now.

"I'm sorry, but if your friend needs help so badly, he can be tended to by the fort medic. To meet with Lissa is essentially to meet with the Prince Chrom, both of these would need special clearan-"

"Please!" Lucina pleaded, before pulling her ace. "_The fire spreads, Naga's demise..."_

Cordelia was silent for a moment, recognizing the code, before reciting the counter phrase.

"_...is at the hands of Men, and Grima shall rise."_


End file.
